Iron Beta: Life as Tony Stark's daughter
by IronSparrow99
Summary: Enter Taylor Stark. Fifteen year old genius, wisecrack, Avenger, and, according to her job description, hero. You don't need any of that, however, to know none of this will be easy.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**Hello dear readers! **

**I'm just going to be upfront here with you guys and say this is my first true fan fiction EVER and I am completely, utterly, freaking TERRIFIED because regulations and categories and what if I get the rating wrong? And what if everyone hates it? And…and…yeeeaaaahhh, so…**

**CHAPTER 1 AWAITS!**

_Who will indeed lead the call for America?_

_Carry the flag shore to shore for America?_

_Who's here to prove that we can?_

_The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!_

_**SMACK!**_

"Jarvis? Has Dad been messing with my alarm again? Because I was set to wake up to Black Sabbath, and that was not Black Sabbath."

"Good morning Ms. Stark. I am not at liberty to divulge such information." _Did that AI just use sarcasm?_

"Of course, Jarvis." I sigh, then grumble "If anybody could make a sassy AI, it would be my dad, wouldn't it?"

"You bet it would." I glance up from my seat on my bed to see my father, the one and only Tony Stark, leaning against my doorframe.

"Nice song choice. Why that one? I swear Steve are purely platonic. If I had a crush on anyone on this team, it wouldn't be Steve, it would be…" I snap my jaw shut before I let my not-yet-awake brain spill _that_ particular secret.

"It would be…who? If not Stars-and-Stripes, then whom, dear daughter, owns your heart? It wouldn't be, say, a certain hawk?"

Cue snort, eye roll, and slug to the shoulder,

"For the last time, dad, I don't have a crush on anyone on the team. I'm only fifteen, you should really be happy about that."

"But you just said-"

I cut him off with a firm "No. Blame it on lack of coffee. Now get out, I'm getting dressed, be down in a second."

Once he leaves, I throw on a pair of black fuzzy sweats and an Iron Man t-shirt (what? You call it shameless advertising, I call it family pride) and make my way to the communal living/eating/lounging area, where I am greeted by the rest of my team and the smell of pancakes. My dad slides a plate in front of me while I grab a glass of orange juice

"So who cooked breakfast? I need to know whether or not it's edible."

My dad manages to look mildly offended.

"Ha, ha, Taylor. My cooking is not _that_ bad."

"Yes it is. Your last attempt at omelets had Natasha running for the bathroom, and she's Russian. They have stomachs of freaking steel."

This gets vague nods of agreement from the entire team, except for said red-haired assassin.

"We agreed never to speak of that. Just be quiet and eat your breakfast, both of you. Fury is coming by later, new evil aliens or robots or something might be on the horizon, apparently. He didn't give many details."

This bring groans from the rest of the table myself included.

"What does Eye patch want now? I mean, seriously, how many evil psychotic alien people are there out there? Do they have nothing better to do then try and take over the world?"

"Too many, and it looks like no. But Loki was only the start. He's sort of like a Pied Piper now, because extraterrestrial psychopaths seem to be coming out of the woodwork." Clint replies.

"There is no rest for heroes, I suppose." I hop off my seat a set my dishes in the sink. "Although that seems highly overrated. Anyways, I'm off to the lab, my suit needs a few touch-ups if there is going to be a new invasion. You know where to find me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

**I'm back! If you are still reading this and didn't run away screaming after the first chapter, you deserve a Thor-worthy poptart.**

**Without further ado, here is chapter 2! (Hehe. That rhymed.)**

"Jarvis, lights."

My shoulders automatically relax as light illuminates my sanctuary, otherwise known as the lab I share with my dad. "Jarvis, pull out Beta I. And put on some music."

AC/DC pours from the speakers as I make myself comfortable at one of the workstations and immerse myself in my suit. My suit looks just like my dad's, except for the fact that mine is shorter, a little more feminine, and black-and-purple, not red-and-gold. I'm Iron Beta, because Beta is the second letter in the Greek alphabet and I'm the second Stark, so my suit is named Beta I. I only have one so far, compared to my dad's thirty-some masterpieces.

"Jarvis, what do I need to be combat ready as soon as possible?"

"It seems, ma'am, that your chest plate armor needs reinforcing, your thigh and shoulder missiles need to be installed, and your face plate is loose."

"Ok, J. Warn me if some comes in, I don't like being snuck up on."

****Time Skip*****

Sometime later-could be minutes, could be hours, you can never tell in the lab- I am shaken out of my engineering daze by my dad ever-so-subtly barging in, not even giving Jarvis time to warn me, and announcing that everybody's favorite pirate, Director Nick Fury, had arrived on premises.

"Alright…just give me a second, got to tighten one more screw…there!" I tear myself away from my suit, which is splayed across my worktable, do a quick once over for appearance (and then decide _screw it, _who cares what Fury thinks), and follow my dad out the door.

What was I walking into now?

"Director."

"Miss Stark. Please sit, we have important matters to discuss."

After I have settled in between Clint and my dad, the debriefing begins.

"Avengers, I have gathered you all here today because a new set of neighbors from outer space has decided they don't like us. We need you seven to figure out who they are, where they came from, and send them back to wherever that is. Avengers Tower will be base of operations-be quiet, Starks- with Agents Romanoff and Barton giving the necessary reports back to S.H.I.E.L.D. Here are the files containing all known information on these aliens. Questions?"

Several hands are raised.

"Stark-the younger one?"

"Is Iron Beta going to be active here, sir? You haven't given us much to work with, but do you want me in the field, sideline, or benched?"

"You will be fully active here, Miss Stark. I trust in your abilities," he cock his head and looks at me like I'm some sort of prey, "unless I have a reason not to?"

"No sir. I will be fully ready sir."

"Stark- older one?"

"Will you please explain why you are commandeering my personal home for strictly work related purposes? I built you a flying ship to avoid this _exact _situation."

"Okay, Stark. A) I don't have to explain anything to you, but because I like you so _very_ much, I will. B) You relinquished the right call this your personal home when you moved all of MY Avengers in, and C) you moved all of MY Avengers in. Anyone else?"

A general consensus of "No, sir" "No" and even a "Nope."(guess who) travelled around the room.

"Good. Avengers, dismissed."

With that and a swish of his cape, he walks out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**

**Thank you to the 63 – last I checked- people who have viewed this story. No one has given me any feedback on parings and such, yet, but I'll take what I can get.**

**Special thanks to Skylar97 for adding this to her favorites list!**

Chapter 3

"So…thoughts, anyone?" Steve is the first to speak up after the _ever_-so-dramatic exit of Director Eye-patch.

"Thoughts? Yes, Spangles, I have many. Relating to this mission however: a) they aren't giving us much to go on, basically just 'hey guys, aliens are invading, and we don't know when, how, where, or even _what_ exactly, but you guys fight it!', and b) we – me and Taylor specifically- need to know what to do, what modifications to make, in order to fight them to the best of our capabilities."

"Right, thanks Stark. Natasha, Clint, you think you could find us more, anything else at all, on what we're dealing with here?"

"We can try, Rogers," Clint replies doubtfully, "but given Nat and I's clearance, there isn't much Fury knows that we don't."

"Hey, guys, just know if the legal approach doesn't work, you _do_ have the world's best hackers sitting right here." Dad pipes up helpfully.

"Tony, let's save that as a last resort. Besides," Bruce adds, "we can go over what we _do_ have and work as far as we can with that. We've done that thousands of times before."

Steve nods his agreement. "Right, so we have the fact that we are fighting aliens…again. So that might mean space travel."

Which would mean special suit upgrades.

"So, basically prepare for the worst, say, another Loki," literally everyone visibly shudders here, "because better safe than sorry."  
"Alrighty then. Then that means… "

"TO THE LAB!" my dad and I shout together, fingers up in the universal 'charge!' symbol as we run down the hall laughing like idiots.

"Okay." My dad starts after he has collected himself, "So what are you thinking? I was thinking all-around protection. Up the heat, cold, space, water, electricity, and EMP shields."

"Yeah, but keep mine light please. I'm smaller than you, and no matter how much muscle I may build up, sometimes too heavy is just too heavy."

"Right. By the way, I know I don't say this often, but I'm proud of you Taybug." My dad's eyes are gleaming with pride as he says this.

"Um...thanks, but you're right, you don't say that often. Why now?"

"This is your first non-sideline mission. And, sure, I'm not particularly happy with Fury sticking you straight into another possible alien war for your first time, but I know you're ready. Mainly because, you know, you're a Stark, and we are freaking brilliant."

And-just like that-moment ruined.

"Thanks, but enough mushy touchy-feely stuff! Technology awaits!" I exclaim as I walk over to my suit, still in the same place I left it earlier. Really glad I had started my work early.

"Right. Jarvis, pull up Mark XXXII's heat shield levels."

"And do the same for Beta I."

"So if we add a sheet here…"

With that, we fade into or familiar working pattern: tools clanging, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, and the occasional Twisted Sister pouring from the speakers, only punctuated with the sporadic "hey, hand me that…" or "what if we did..", and I positively loved it.

I take this opportunity to explore my own thoughts about this whole new maybe-alien-war thing going on.

_My first real mission._ That hasn't even sunk in fully yet. This is what'll get Iron Beta, not Taylor Stark, onto the front page. I'll finally be in the heat of battle, not just manning communications or playing injured-member retrieval.

_But,_ that evil little metaphorical devil on my other shoulder counters,_ you'll also see the death, the blood, and the grief, not to mention the burning b-_

_No. I'll be _fine._ My dad survived three months with terrorists in Afghanistan, and look how he turned out._ Great, now I'm reassuring myself.

_That is EXACTLY my point, _Metaphorical Devil argues,_ he didn't-_

"Shut UP!"

"Um…Taylor? I didn't say anything." My dad is looking at me funny.

"Not you…just that little voice in the back of my head, giving me pre-mission jitters. It's nothing."

"You're 110% right, it's nothing. You'll be great. The second Stark on the battlefield. Look at me, leaving a legacy! It's like a family business!" My dad claps his hands gleefully, and he will swear on his deathbed he never squealed.

"S.H.I.E.L.D is a family business for us now? That is a sad, _sad_, thought." I chuckle as I duck to avoid the paper ball suddenly heading my way.

And turn around to see it hit Natasha – who had just walked in – right between the eyes.

"Ooooohhhhh, Daaaad, you just hit the Black Widow with a projectile! You're in trouble now!"

"That 'projectile' was made entirely of paper, pretty sure it didn't hurt. And I was aiming for you!"

"Yeah, but-"

A shrill taxi-cab whistle cuts me off.

"Honestly, you two act like you're both six sometimes. I have a little extra info on what we're facing, but Bruce says you have to come up and eat and interact before I give them to you."

Cries (read _whines_) of "Whhhyyy?" and "But humans are booorrrriiinnnggg!" ring out simultaneously.

Natasha just rolls her eyes, waves the files, and walks out the door.

Probably knowing that we followed, however reluctantly.

**A/N**

**Yes, another author's note, it'll be short.**

**Yay! A longer chapter for you, my dear readers, sort of an I'm-sorry-the-last-two-were-so-short gift. Action should start next chapter, if not the chapter after that, but first all of us- characters and readers- need to know what we are dealing with here.**

**Please Read and ****Review****!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**

**144 views! Thank you thank you thank you!**

**Here is chapter 4, the action should start here! (keyword: should. Please do not hunt me down if it doesn't.)**

**Thank you sarahope7890 for following this!**

"Friends Stark and Little Stark! Come join us in our feast of knowledge!"

Note to self: if the loud, excitable god says you should go join the rest of your team on the couch, you go join the rest of your team on the couch.

"Feast of knowledge, huh? So, what's new in alien-invasion land?"

Steve just barely bites back a smile as he replies.

"Okay, so we have a name, a _who_ \- as Stark so brilliantly put it earlier - and a _what_ to work with. They're called Zygones," _cue giggles and eye rolls at said giggles_ "and they are under the command of someone called the Master - connection to Loki possible but in confirmed as of yet."

"Zygones, hm? Anybody have a where? We still can't fight them effectively if we don't know the battlefield."

It's Clint who replies, only after running a hand through his hair and sighing. "Nothing yet. We're going to have to go with the 'hope for the best, prepare for worst, and expect everything else along the way' strategy here."

"I wish I could give you guys more here. I don't like leading men to battle blind." Steve says, and his face shows he looks and feels horrible.

I stand as he does, he paces while I try to calm his nerves.

"Steve, hey, calm down. Have you completely forgotten your starting lineup here? Not one, not two, but three of the absolute smartest people on Earth, two master spies, one demigod, and not to mention you, super soldier extraordinaire, all of which will stop at nothing to keep Earth in the right hands. We've all been doing the impossible for a very long time, and we won't stop now."

Steve stops the pattern he's been on the entirety of my little speech to turn and smile gratefully at me.

"Yeah. I-sorry guys. Thanks Taylor."

Agreement rings out throughout the room as my dad leans over to land a light kiss in my hair and murmur "You give way better pep talks than me. For a girl that doesn't like mushy situations, you sure are one to instigate them."

"Well," I breathe back, barely audible "he needed it, and the rest of you would have made him cry."

"Alright team, status reports!" Steve calls, breaking the almost-silent conversations my dad and I were engaged in.

"Starks, how are the suits coming?"

"Combat ready." My dad is instantly in business mode _(yes he does have one.)_ "We're just adding bells and whistles, but we'd be ready to fly at the moment."

"Good. Taylor, is Iron Beta 100% ready?"

"120% ready, Captain. Frankly, I'm excited. Not sure if I should be, but…"

"Understood. Alright guys, dismissed. Agents, you might want to report this in." Steve calls over his shoulder as he retreats from the room.

After he had left, I turn to the others.

"Anyone up for a movie?"

"I'll get the popcorn."

**A~A~A**

We are halfway through _Footloose_ when the alarm sounds.

"Jarvis? What's going on?"

"There seems to be missile, not of Earth's origin, heading for the 5th floor, ETA ten minutes."

My dad's face pales as he just barely manages to bite back a curse, for the sole reason of being on my feet next to him.

"Stark? Remember how you said the suits would fly right now?"

I can't hear my dad's answer, I'm guessing it's bitten and harsh, but I can hear Steve's follow up reply.

"Because you need to _right now._"

With that, I break off in a dead-out sprint towards my room.

I practically jump into a black t-shirt, black and grey camo pants, and military grade combat boots (Rhodey supplies my gear) and am in a dead sprint once more, this time out to the landing platform where my dad is in his suit and ready for takeoff.

I wait till my suit fully encompasses me and my holoscreen lights up until I start asking questions.

"_ETA?"_

"_Six minutes. We're running interception. Like I did in Manhattan." _my dad replies over the sound of his boosters lifting him off the platform and mine following suit.

"_No reminders of Manhattan right now. I'm glad I was benched. There are no portals here, and no need for rash suicide runs. Got it?"_

"_Okay, Ms. Bossy. Simple locate and divert. No suicide runs."_

The comms are silent for the rest of the flight until somewhere on East seventy-second street, where the real action begins.

"_Okay we're close enough to engage now. I'll go low and left, you go up and right. When you get close enough, start pushing northeast as fast as you can. We need to get this over water."_

I can only nod, I don't trust my voice not to shake like a sapling in a hurricane.

I follow my planned flight path as I swing wide and low, rising above the missile, slightly to the right. Adjusting my thrusters ever so slightly, I get closer, closer, closer…

Contact! My dad's gauntlets land on the missile almost simultaneous to mine, and all power is suddenly concentrated to our feet and we turn the missile away from innocent lives.

"_How long till detonation?"_

"_Jarvis says just under five minutes. We're close to water, but if we don't get there in time, I need you to-"_

"_YOU SAID NO SUICIDE RUNS!" _I cut him off with a scream as I put every last bit of power into my thrusters. _"Besides, I can see the water, on your 1 o'clock."_

We speed up even more for the home stretch, just a little farther…one more push….

"_We're good! Fly away, fly away NOW!"_

I let go of the missile as I do a backflip, changing direction in mid-air, and rocket the other way.

"_Ma'am, sir, you have approximately one minute remaining."_

"_Yes, thank you Jarvis. Taylor-"_

My dad is cut off by an explosion tearing the sky apart.

The shockwave sends me reeling, even after I stop physically tumbling.

My mind is still lagging, and only two thoughts filter through my brain:

_Oh my gosh, I just watched a missile EXPLODE _and _so this is what a battlefield looks like, because war just started._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**

**See? Action! Missiles! And now you know where Taylor was during Manhattan. If you couldn't tell already, this is post movie. **

**Song used: Gunpowder and Lead by Miranda Lambert **

As soon as my feet are safely back on the landing platform, I am bombarded with worried Avengers and all the accompanying questions.

"I'm okay! I swear-yes, Cap, no, Bruce, I didn't-well excuse me! I-"

"Jeez, guys, let her breathe." My dad says, landing with a chuckle behind me. "And I'm alive, by the way, thanks for asking. Really feeling the love."

"Admit it, Stark," Natasha snorts, "You'd do the same in our position."

"Touché." My dad just shrugs, both affirming Natasha's suspicions and giving the disassembly bots, currently removing his shoulder plates, more room to work.

Once both of our suits are off and safely stored away, we follow the team inside-

-only to be greeted by one angry pirate of a Director.

Twice in one day? How bad is our luck?

My dad huffs in annoyance, I keep my thoughts to myself for once.

"Hello Director. Anything we can help you -or S.H.I.E.L.D- with?"

"'Cause, if you haven't noticed," my dad grumbles under his breath, "we're kinda-ow!"

I retract my still-booted foot from where it had just made contact with my dad's shin, never once taking my eyes of the Director.

"If you're quite done, Stark, maybe one of you would like to explain what the heck that stunt with missile was?"

Thankfully, Bruce interjects before any comments can be made about the 'stunt' comment - not a stunt, heroism, thank you very much.

"I've been running some tests based off the video feed and size reading Jarvis collected while the alarms were going off, and it's not of Earthly origin.

_Meaning it's not a Stark weapon,_ I think as I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, _thank God._

"So you're saying, Doctor Banner, that that was a Zygone weapon pointed at the base for all of the Avengers?"

Bruce swallows and his eyes darken before replying. "Yes Director."

"Well then." He turns his attention back to the rest of us, "You all know the drill. Complete combat readiness, 24/7. Sleep with your weapons. S.H.I.E.L.D. is working on the next pinpointed location, we'll fly you out ASAP. Prepare yourselves for war."

Cue yet another dramatic exit.

I turn back to the team, my expression probably a mirror of the shock evident on every face in the room – sans Natasha and Clint – and give a weary sigh.

"I don't know about you guys, but my first order of business is a long, hot, shower. Then a nap. Don't wake me up unless there's another explosive headed our way."

Nobody justifies that with a reply as I walk down the hall towards my room, probably because they're thinking the same thing.

**A~A~A**

Forty-five minutes later, I'm sitting on my bed, muscles loosened, once again wearing yoga pants and a loose t-shirt, this one depicting an old band of some sort. I am, however, taking Fury's advice to heart, because I'm holding a four-inch-long, polished silver, black-and-pearl hilted dagger. Never let it be said I don't follow orders.

My radio is playing softly in the background, and my mind immediately picks out the lyrics.

_I'm going' home, gonna load my shotgun_

_Wait by the door and light a cigarette_

_If he wants a fight well now he's got one_

_And he ain't seen me crazy yet._

_He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll_

_Don't that sound like a real man?_

_I'm going to show him what a little girls are made of_

_Gunpowder and lead!_

My laugh is bitter and bitten, because it's ironic, isn't it? The world just slapped me and shook me, and no, it hasn't seen me crazy yet, but it's about to. My shotgun is loaded, and I –

"Miss Stark, your father says to pack your bags and meet him and the others on the roof, Fury has found the next location and you depart by jet in ten minutes."

I jump up instantly, running around gathering clothes as I reply to the AI.

"Of course, Jarvis. Can you condense the suit to pack form and have it waiting downstairs?"

I should probably explain – my suit folds into backpack, sort of like the Mark V, but mine looks more like a backpack than a suitcase.

I end up picking out an olive green t-shirt, black capris, and picking my boots up of the floor, and once I stick my knife in my boot (just in case), I'm dashing for the elevator.

I step out onto the topmost floor to see everyone in gear and ready to go and Natasha and Steve – not Clint – in the jet and already looking impatient.

I pick up my pack and hoist it onto my shoulders, waiting to secure all the other straps until we're on the plane, I'm going to take it right back off anyways.

The jet's boosters drown out any conversation to be had, so everyone is silent until we board said jet.

Once on board and in the air, Bruce plants himself in a corner with his research and noise-canceling headphones, my dad shoots me an anxious glance, to which I reassure him I'll be fine, before he too buries himself in research, and Thor is nowhere to be seen, leaving only Clint and I to interact between ourselves.

I'll admit this makes me a little uncomfortable, for reasons I really don't know.

"So, uh, where are we headed?"

"Paris."

"Ah…I've always wanted to go there, but not like this."

"Yeah."

"You gonna stick to one word answers this entire conversation?"

"I'll try."

I snort and redirect the conversation, because that train wasn't going anywhere soon.

"Hey, when we get back, can you teach me how to shoot? I've got close range covered," I nod to my dagger, "but I need long range, and guns aren't my thing. Oh, and I should get combat training too, but I can ask Natasha if you-"

My words are cut off by a calloused hand suddenly blanketing my mouth, my eyes widen at Clint with my _'what the HECK?'_ face on.

"Sorry, but you were rambling." He explains as he draws his hand back.

"To answer your question, yes I can teach you how to shoot, and I can teach you hand-to-hand combat as well, I'm less of a challenge than Natasha."

"Thank you so much! I–"

"_Attention all passengers,"_ Natasha's voice echoes out of the speakers, _"We will be landing in about two minutes, please secure all belongings and buckle in if turbulence bothers you." _

Seeing as an aversion to turbulence would make my job impossible, I stand and lift my pack once again, this time securing it over my shoulders, buckling it across my chest and stomach, and adjusting all straps to make sure my suit is safe.

I then watch as last minute papers are gathered and bow cases shut, bracing myself against the slight jolt of hitting the ground.

Soon we taxi in and eventually stop, and we all stand as the ramp lowers.

The streets of Paris await.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm baaaacccckkkk! And with over 300 views! Do you guys know how happy that makes me? Really happy! Like Thor + endless pop tarts happy!**

**I have decided to make this a ClintxOC story, but it's just a little one-sided schoolgirl crush, because I made Clint 20, and he can't date Taylor-who is 15-without it being illegal. I might make a time skip sequel, though. **

**Disclaimer: I only own Taylor, I'm borrowing the rest. **

**Look, it's Chapter 6!**

Chapter 6

"Come on, Taylor!"

"But _dad_, it's the Eifel Tower!"

"Yes, I can see that, and-"

"-And we'll get plenty of time to see it," Steve interjects from the driver's seat of our S.H.I.E.L.D. issued van, "when we aren't too busy, you know, _saving the world._"

I push my bottom lip out. No, I don't care how childish it is at the moment.

"Don't give me that lip." my dad says sternly with a look in his eyes he rarely uses on me – his '_don't push me right now_' look.

I resign myself to gazing out the window in silence, my brain either computing mission details or complaining about the fact that _I'm in freaking Paris and I could be seeing so many monuments right now and there isn't an alien in sight._

BOOM.

I might have spoken too soon.

Our left front tire explodes, and Steve fights for some amount of control of the van as Natasha, in the passenger seat, braces against the dashboard and loads her gun, ready to make a quick exit and unload some lead on whoever just caused this calamity.

Directly next to me, my dad shoves my pack at me before somewhat curling himself around me, his foot primed to deploy the Mark V.

Behind me, I can feel my seat shift as Clint curls into what I can only assume is brace position, and I can see glimpses of Bruce and Thor – who had met us at the airport – doing the same behind my dad.

Someone calls out a last _hold on! _And then –

SMASH ! BANG! CRASH!

Generally? Chaos.

My head slams against the window where I had previously pouted, and my vision lightens with stars and darkens at the same time. I swear if feels like my dad's elbow – or knee, maybe, I can't tell – is about to crush some of my ribs, but luckily the rest of me gets shoved into my pack, cushioning the rest of my bones and other important organs.

Once the van stills, I shake my vision clear of the stars and black spots and my dad starts to slowly untangle himself from me.

The first thing I reach for is my pack. "Jarvis," I cough out as I try and regain the wind that was knocked out of me, "deploy!"

I shift my arms and legs – I don't think anything is broken – into a position my suit can fold around.

I try and stay as still as possible as it encompasses me, but the second my face plate is secure, I'm moving, fighting my way out of the wreckage.

As soon as I'm free, I take stock of my surroundings.

The fact that my dad is standing, scratched (nothing a paint job can't fix) but unharmed, a few feet away send relief crashing over me in waves, relief I know he shares as he spots me safe.

Steve is a little roughed up but unharmed, Jarvis informs me, and about three feet behind me with Natasha, who is also okay.

Thor is probably the best off out of all of us, one of the farthest from the explosion, armed with a magical hammer that probably cut through the side of the van like hot butter.

Bruce is unharmed, a little roughed up and he looks a little green, but he's alright.

Clint is directly to my left a few feet, carefully threading a leg through a path out of a hunk of what might have been a seat. The fact that he's okay sends more relief crashing over me, for reasons I _still _don't know.

I must have a concussion. Yeah, that's it.

I shake my head again to clear my head.

The street we crashed on is a main-street type, shop windows lining the street reflecting the streetlamps currently illuminating the cobblestone walkway.

It would have been quaint, if not for the smoldering van wreckage, six superheroes on high alert, and semi-sized scaled wolves coming out of the shadows.

_Wait, what!?_

"_Zygones?" _Steve enquires over the comms.

"_Don't know." _Natasha speaks up, _"but I do know two things: 1) they aren't from around here, and 2) they're headed straight towards us!"_

She barely finishes her sentence as one leaps towards me, tusk-like teeth bared, and is met with a repulsor beam to the face.

"_Iron Man, Iron Beta, you need to runs scans so we know what these are." _Steve – _Captain _– barks, going to full 'leader' mode.

"_We'll try, Cap," _Dad grunts as he kicks one in the nose, _"but we might not be able to stay in one place long enough without becoming doggy chow."_

"_Just try. Till then, we need aerial support, now!"_

I shoot upwards with a dull roar, blasting a dog-snake-monster in the face as bonus on my way up.

"_We're in position." _

"_Good. Watch the perimeter too, will you?"_

"_Roger that, Cap."_

"_Widow, behind you!"_

"_Thanks, Beta."_

"_Don't mention it. Hawkeye, where are you?" _We're about half an hour into battle and I still haven't found him.

"_On your six o'clock, Beta. You've got some on your tail!"_

"_I'm quite aware! Running them past you…now!"_

_Whizz…thwack! Thwack! Thwack! _Arrows now protrude out of three more beasts.

"_Thanks, Hawkeye!" _I give him a thumbs up as I double back towards Thor, who single-handedly takes about twenty at once.

"Jarvis, what's the body count?"

"Fifty and counting, ma'am."

And still more come…

**A~A~A**

The rest of the battle consists of fire and smoke and lightning, growls and yelps and hisses and grunts.

About two hours later, the last beast is struck down, courtesy of a bullet from Natasha's direction.

No one is seriously hurt. Steve and Thor just sore but still ready to fight.

Us normal humans?

I feel like putty; I need another warm shower and a soft bed. My dad's suit shrieks when he moves; something needs repair. Bruce is passed out in the sweat pants Steve had to put on him. Even Natasha and Clint are panting.

But we're all alive and standing, and that counts for something.

"Dad, are you able to be airborne?"

"I think. I have limited movement of my legs, one of the mutts head butted my hip."

"Steve, I think it would be in everybody's best interest if I book us the closest hotel. We all need showers and sleep."

Steve nods in agreement, and Jarvis finds a hotel with a weird French name about ten minutes east.

My dad takes flight – rickety, shaking flight, but I'm below him to catch him if he falls – Steve picks up Bruce, and we begin to trudge east.

**A~A~A**

About an hour later, I'm washed, dressed in sleepwear, and pulling my blankets over my chin.

Goodnights are whispered by my dad occupying the next bed over, the rest of the team spread throughout four or five rooms.

My last thought before sleep overtakes me is:

_And to think, this morning my biggest worry was my alarm._

**A/N**

**I'll be quick. Thanks to all the people who favorite, followed, read and reviewed! Keep it coming.**

**Sorry about the battle scene. I specialize in hurt! Character scenes, but I can't just start shooting people left and right (no matter how much Natasha wants to.)**

**Read and Review!**_  
_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**

**I am REALLY, REALLY sorry about the last battle scene. I am a horrible battle writer. I'm like the person that comes in **_**after**_** the battle writers and cleans up the scene and deal with the hurt characters and emotional wrecks. **

**FYI that was not the final battle. That was like Stuttgart. I've got a ways to go before the Manhattan scale battle.**

Chapter 7

My alarm isn't going off. Why wasn't Jarvis waking me up?

"Jarvis?" I mumble into my pillow, not fully coherent yet.

Still no answer. I finally pry my head up to be greeted by a dark, unfamiliar room, smelling of Lysol and dust. The room itself had two beds, only one of which was currently occupied, and looked vaguely hotel-like.

_Hotel._

_Paris._

_Crap…_

Everything from last night comes rushing back at once as I jerk upright with a gasp.

_Everyone is okay. _My brain assured me. _Everyone made it out._

I take a deep breath, calming myself down and inhaling yet more Lysol-smelling, dusty air, this time covering a slight scent of…waffles?

"Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty!" My dad joyously – too joyously for this hour of the morning – crows as he pokes his head around the door.

Once he sees I'm awake, he opens the door fully to make his way across the room to me, holding a platter of, yes, waffles.

I take the plate as it is offered to me, and once the first bite is in my mouth, my dad fills me in after I essentially passed out last night.

"I went to bed not long after you. We all did – even Steve and Thor were drained. I woke up about an hour ago, and Steve texted me saying the team was going down for breakfast. I considered waking you, but you were still dead to the world, deep in dreamland, so I just went down and grabbed you a plate on my way back up. You probably want to shower and get dressed, we're going over what data we did manage collect off those things last night to see what we were fighting, and then we fly back via jet around noon."

I just nod, as my mouth is full and I'm currently focusing all attention of chasing the last piece of waffle around the plate with my fork.

My dad stands and starts rooting around in his bag, over on his bed, most likely for a tablet or device with the data from last night.

I set my plate aside as I find my bag, some clothes – still militaristic camo – and head for the bathroom.

**A~A~A**

Once I'm finally clean, I walk out of the bathroom to be greeted by the rest of the team spread across the hotel room.

_Well thank god I wore my pants,_ I chuckle softly.

"Hey guys. Dad, thanks for the warning, what if I had walked out without pants?"

"That would have been awkward."

"My point exactly! Knock on the door next time or something."

Someone clears there throat, drawing my attention to the rest of the team, whom I had forgotten were still there.

"Oh. Right, data. So…what'd we get?"

"Well they're not from here." Steve supplies. "Not genetics experiments, no previous civilian sightings. Their descriptions match those of the S.H.I.E.L.D. profile for Zygones, from what little they could gather."

Natasha picks up the story from her spot by the window. "There are no recognizable marks or symbols, no branding patterns, if you will, to tell whose command they are under. We still have no idea who 'the Master' is."

I sigh as I run my hand through my still damp hair. "It's better than nothing, right? We won, everyone's okay, no emotional scarring like that time tin Berlin, so we're fine for now. We can try to find out more when we're back at the tower, with full equipment at our disposal." I direct the last part at Bruce and my dad, and they nod, probably running the same amount of situations that currently race through my head.

They don't call us geniuses for nothing.

Steve stands and claps his hands to reel everyone back to the main conversation.

"The jet should be here in," he checks his watch, "forty-five minutes. We have nothing do until then, so just make sure you're fully packed and ready to go on time, and try not to burn down, trash, or 'modify'," pointed glance towards me and my dad, "the hotel in the process. I will be in the gym or my room if you need me."

With that, we all scatter either into vents (Clint), out the door (Thor, Bruce, and Steve), or simply into the shadows (Natasha – and I have no idea how.)

I turn to my dad, who had walked over to his bag and was currently packing gadget after gadget.

"Have you checked on your suit since last night? How is it doing?"

"Not much beyond my initial assessment – how'd that get there? – last night. The legs need superficial reconstruction – where is that…ah! – and I wouldn't trust it to fly, but it's not a junk pile yet. You checked yours?" He asks as he places the last item in and zips up his bag, depositing it by the door, next to his suitcase-Mark V.

"Last night? Yes. This morning? Not yet, but I don't see it as completely necessary. Nothing last night revealed anything paintbrush can't fix."

"Make that two paintbrushes. Both suits could currently be shinier."

"Oh yeah," I snort," 'cause it's not like we just fought off about one hundred semi-sized lizard dogs or anything. Why on earth would they be dull?"

My dad laughs, and a little bit of tension is lifted off my shoulders.

**A~A~A**

An hour later, after an uneventful flight home, I'm sitting at a work station down in the lab when I hear the squeaky hiss of the door opening.

I currently have my hands elbow-deep in a hologram, so I figured my dad would deal with whoever needed whatever.

"Hey Birdbrain, you need something?"

_Clint? What's he doing down here?_

"Actually Tony, I was wondering if I could borrow your daughter for a combat lesson I promised her."

"I'm sure she'd be glad to."

"She," I interject, pushing the hologram away, "has ears, and she is standing not five feet away. And, sure, Clint, I'd love to, I'll meet you down in the gym in five, okay?"

Clint walks out, apparently satisfied.

I can feel my dad's curious gaze as I gather my tools and dismiss the holograms I was surrounded by.

"What's the combat training for? You're surrounded by 2.57 inches of titanium alloy when you ride into battle."

"Yeah, but what if my suit breaks, like now? I want to be able to take down bad guys and not rely 100% on my suit. That means being a decent shot and holding my own in a fight."

"Okay, I see your logic. Why Clint, why not Natasha?"

I shrug. "He was there and Natasha was flying a jet at the time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get changed and meet him down in the gym."

I head towards the door, his well wishes fading as I get further away.

Two minutes later, I race into the gym, dressed in a tank top and workout shorts, to find Clint dressed similarly standing in the middle of the mats.

"I was thinking hand-to-hand and then shooting. Sound good?"

"Yeah. And please don't go easy on me because I'm fifteen, or because you're scared of my dad."

"Don't worry, I won't." He assures me, adopting a fighting stance and motioning for me to do the same, "And me, scared of Stark? Yeah, not likely."

"Okay, first off, if I were to come at you like this," he says, jabbing at my shoulder, "what would you do?"

"I would reach for your elbow and use my weight to throw you off balance."

"Good theory, but here's the issue with that: you don't weigh all that much, which means I could push back and do this."

Faster than I can blink, I'm flat on the ground, Clint lying practically on top of me, his face inches from mine, his big, blue-green-gray, bottomless, eyes staring into mine like-

"-lor! Taylor!"

I shake my head and blink. "Sorry, what?"

"I just called your name ten times. You need to focus. Where was your head?"

"I, ah, it was…"

He sighs, pushing off of me, and for some reason, I miss the warmth instantly.

"Alright, I'll run that move again. This time, keep your head in the gym…"

**A~A~A**

Half an hour and three more embarrassing tackles later, we're both sweating, because as it turns out – and I quote – "I'm not half bad."

Coming from Hawkeye, master S.H.I.E.L.D. assassin and experienced Avenger, these words carry a lot more weight than normal.

As we're over at the bench, rehydrating and wiping the copious amounts of sweat off our faces, he proposes the next step of my training regimen.

"I figured we'd go down to the shooting range Nat and I use for training, and we can use my arsenal of bows and arrows – speaking of, you'll most likely stick to target arrows, duller – and test your aim, arm strength, things like that."

I nod with a small smile. "I expected nothing less."

"Good to see you knew what you were in for."

"That's new, being Tony's daughter and all."

This draws a laugh from the assassin. "I'd imagine it is."

Once we are four floors down, in the ranges, he hands me six dull-pointed arrows and a bow, similar to his but smaller, and walks me over to a table set up at one end of the range, where a huddled mass of straps and Velcro awaits.

"Protective gear." He says, seeing my confused expression. "This is an arm brace, prevents your arm from being mauled by the string. This one, a finger guard, keeps your fingers from the same fate."

Once I am fully strapped, snapped, and buckled in protectiveness, I pick up the bow again.

"Show me how you would hold it."

I hold it out in front of me and pull my arm back.

"Okay," he says, moving around behind me, _close, "_move your elbow up, let those fingers touch your cheek," his fingers brush over my cheek, and I can't help but shiver because it feels so _good_ for some reason, "and keep both eyes open. Good! Now pull back slowly."

_Deep breath in…_

"Keep your eye on the target…get ready…"

_Deep breath out…_

"Let it go."

_Fwip..._I watch it fly until…_thwack!_

"Hey, look, I actually hit the target!" I cheer.

"That you did, and not too bad at all. A little to the left, but I think that's the bow. Hold on a second…"

He walks over to his pile and roots around for a bit before selecting one again, this one smaller, sleeker, and more gently curved.

"Try this one instead. It's more flexible, should be easier to control."

I take the bow from him, and I instantly notice how much more comfortable, more natural, it feels in my grip.

"Lift it up when you're ready."

I notch an arrow, pull it back, plant my feet, and fix my gaze on the target.

_Deep breath in…_

"Elbow up…good."

_Deep breath out…_

"Whenever you're ready."

_Let it go…_

_Thwack!_

My jaw drops.

And a quick observation of Clint's face shows I'm not the only one.

I had just hit dead-center, Robin-hood style, bull's-eye!

On my second shot, ever!

"Wow…I am seriously scared for my title of Hawkeye."

"Really?"

"Really. Now notch another one, let's do that again!"

I chuckle and comply.

**A~A~A**

Fifty arrows and fifty bull's-eyes later, Clint has a permanent look of shock etched on his face that got there around shot twenty.

"So…still scared for your title, Hawkeye?"

"More than scared, try petrified!"

"Are you sure this isn't beginner's luck or something?"

He shakes his head. "I don't believe in beginner's luck, and even if I did, this is way past that. This…this is true talent, Taylor."

Hawkeye – _the_ Hawkeye, the best sniper in the entire world – told me I have talent. True talent.

Said sniper must have noticed my expression, because he chuckles slightly.

"You want to come back tomorrow and do some more?"

"If my dad and I aren't busy and we're not saving the world, I'd love to!"

"Sure, now I heard someone upstairs ordered pizza, and we do need to show them we still exist. I'm going up, you coming?"

"I'll be right behind you, just give me a minute to, um, de-strap and stuff."

He nods and jogs up the stairs.

I head the other direction, lean back against the wall, and let myself slide down like a ragdoll.

My head my split in fifty different directions, all a fuzzy haze.

_Clint tackling me on the mats._

_Clint's eyes staring into mine, making me want to melt._

_Clint's fingers brushing my cheek. _

_The shivers._

_The need to see him okay._

_The want to be around him._

What was going on? Did I have a fever?

_No, _my subconscious laughed harshly, _who are you kidding? Just admit it._

Admit what?

_Don't play dumb, genius._

Oh…crap.

_Yeah, that._

Guess what I just realized?

I have a crush on Clint-freaking-Barton.

Yeah, I'm screwed.

**A/N**

…**well then.**

**Things just got a whole lot more interesting, didn't they?**

**I have no idea how this ended up at 2,000+ words, by the way, but I hope you guys like it.**

**Thanks to all those that read, reviewed, favorite, and followed!**

**Keep reading and reviewing!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**

**500+ views! You guys, thank you! My story has literally been up a week, and over 500 of you have already read it. **

**I just wanted to let you guys know that no matter how good Taylor is at archery, she is Iron Beta first, which means the suit is her default combat setting.**

Chapter 8

After dinner (Thor ordered pizza via phone- I was told it was quite funny, and the audio tapes do not disagree), everyone was regaled with tales of my archery lesson (Natasha was shocked to the point of actually showing it.)

My dad looked every bit the proud father, the same look when I built a circuit board at five and built – yes, built – a puppy at six, and then donated said puppy to the local children's hospital.

I never get tired of seeing that look.

Anyways, the rest of the team offered their congratulations, but seeing as they didn't really know the significance behind me being as good a shot as Hawkeye, I could see their hearts weren't in it.

But they did gather in the living room with the promise of a movie and ice cream, which never happens anymore, for a – what I like to call – celebratory movie night. There was a small debate between archer and soldier over what movie to watch (_Saving Private Ryan_ vs. _Die Hard_), but then the spider stepped in, and _Grownups _was put on with no complaint.

I curled up against my dad as the title graced the screen, intent on doing nothing but join my fellow teammates – dare I say friends? – for a funny movie and digging into a huge bowl of Cookies n' cream ice cream.

**A~A~A**

And that is exactly what happened.

No missiles this time.

Once the ending credits came, I untangled myself from my dad – who had fallen asleep about an hour into the movie - substituting myself for a pillow as I walked to the kitchen to put my bowl in the sink.

On my way back, I was met with a scene so peaceful, I had stop and stare.

And snap a few pictures.

The living room was ninety percent covered in sleeping superhero.

Steve had sprawled on one on the recliners, spread eagle style. His head was tipped back, mouth slightly open, and he was making sounds like a dreaming puppy.

Captain America in all his glory.

Bruce was spread on the other recliner, face down in a pillow, one leg and arm hanging off in odd directions, glasses pressed against his face in a way that will leave a mark in the morning.

Thor was standing – er, lying – in for our rug, lying on his back and snoring like a freight train. Someone had obviously given the god pop tarts, because wrappers littered his chest and the floor around him.

Natasha was curled into one of the couches, her knees tucked into her chest and her head resting on her arms. She looked as peaceful as a Black Widow can get.

Clint was draped across the top of the same couch, one leg hanging off the back, fingers brushing Natasha's spine. He looked so _adorable _when he slept, hair mussed up and so _soft _looking, I just…

_Cue mental slap._

Thanks, subconscious.

My dad was curled up on the last couch, still hugging the pillow I had slipped in after I got up. His head was at an odd angle on one of the armrests, and I mentally checked for Advil because he'd have a cricked neck in the morning.

I made my way back over to my spot next to him, stepping gracefully over Thor and any pop tart wrappers in my way.

I moved the pillow and curled back into my dad, completely content for the time being, finally relaxing now that Zygones weren't trying to kill us at the moment.

Life was good. Life was peaceful.

And they say pride comes before a fall.

**A~A~A**

I was woken up the next morning by someone frantically shaking my shoulder.

The first thing I noticed was the palpable tension in the air, and this made me sit bolt upright.

"Finally, you're awake." my dad exclaims as I blink the last of the sleep out of my eyes, "take a look at this!"

My attention turns to where he points, the T.V., where a frantic new reporter was gesturing towards a crime scene.

"What-"

"Shhh! Watch!"

So I do.

"_\- night. Onlookers reported seeing scaled beasts with tusks like walruses plowing down Fourth Street. They say these mysterious beasts tossed aside cars like they were plastic and mowed down buildings like they were Legos. Five people are reported dead, ten others are being flown to local hospitals. SWAT teams and the National Guard are on scene, and they seem to be taking down monsters sufficiently enough. But questions still stand: what are these creatures? Where are they from? Why are they here? More at eleven."_

And then commercial.

"Does that scream 'Zygone' to anyone else?" I enquire as I look around the room for the first time.

All peacefulness that coated the room last night is gone, banished and replaced by tension so thick one of Clint's explosive arrows couldn't do anything.

Steve stands behind the couch to my left, straight-backed with hands folded behind his back, obviously in full 'Captain' mode, studying the tape again and again in his head, looking for important information, details, anything of use.

Thor is over by the kitchen entrance, tense armed and with hands wrapped white knuckled around his hammer.

Bruce has a slight emerald hue to his skin, pinching bridge of his nose and grasping for some amount of control so he doesn't destroy the living room.

(And, yes, he does have a slight, red, glasses-inflicted mark on his cheek)

Natasha stands farther back, feet squared, shoulders back, and face blank. Her right hand is rested – probably subconsciously – on the grip of one of her guns, and she looks ready to shoot someone.

Clint is just to her right, arms crossed, both fists and jaw clenched, glaring at the T.V. like he wants to grab his bow and put an arrow through it.

I would gladly help him.

My dad is still next to me, hunched over slightly, elbows on his knees, his gaze dark and flickering between me and the T.V.

_Five people…_

_Deep breath in…_

"Where was this?"

"Some small town in Kansas." My dad replies in a monotone, flat voice.

"Last night?"

"Yes."

_Deep breath out…_

I turn around, stiffen my back, and go into 'Iron Beta' mode.

"Captain, what's the plan?"

"SWAT and National Guard have the beasts under control. They do, however, have a body of one of the beasts, one we can use to find out more on what they are where they came from. Widow, you're going to be with me. Once there, we'll talk to people, see what they know. Iron Man, you and Doctor Banner – not Hulk – will be collecting data and samples from the body. Thor, Iron Beta, and Hawkeye have the perimeter – keep an eye out for more Zygones or other threats. Look for details from above. Iron Man, Iron Beta, you'll fly there. Understood?"

No objections.

"Good. A Quinjet is on the roof, suit up and be up there in five."

We all disperse. I start to head to my room to get dressed, but Clint stops me once we're alone.

"I'm bringing that bow and a quiver for you. You probably won't need them, I'm hoping you won't, but better safe than sorry."

I nod. "Be careful."

He smirks – an adorable smirk, and –"Always. You too."

Another nod, and he walks out to get his suit and our weapons.

I watch him go for a second _(no I was not staring at his butt. I wasn't!) _before sprinting in the other direction.

Once I'm dressed, I head out to the landing platform to get suited up.

"What took you so long?"

"Sorry," I drawl with heavy sarcasm, "I couldn't decide what shoes to wear."

We both laugh, and that feels good because nobody knows what we're going to see in the next hour.

Just as my holo screen turns on I hear the roar of jet engines overhead.

"_And there they go. Come on!" _my dad rockets off the platform with me hot on his heels.

"_Jarvis, take us to Kansas!"_

**A/N**

**Kansas was a random state, and the town will be made up, Any and all coincidences to real life are just that – coincidences.**

**Thank you to the 532 people that read this.**

**Keep reading, reviewing, favorite (ing), and following!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**

**Two chapters in one day? Madness! But, hey, I feel like writing, so yeah.**

**To Kansas!**

Chapter 9

Forty five minutes later, I landed next to a tumbleweed in Harkens, Kansas.

"_You guys know the plan." _Cap barked over the comms, _"Stick to it!"_

"_Sir Yes sir, Cap!" _I rocket upwards, higher and higher until I can see the entire town. It's not that big – a square two miles maybe. Poor Hawkeye is perched on the tallest building in town – Town Hall. The archer is balanced between a wall and a statue that looks like a cheap knockoff of Lady Justice.

"_You okay, Hawkeye?" _I ask, biting back both a laugh and true concern at his position.

"_I'm fine Beta. Don't worry about me." _Yeah, that'll happen when pigs fly. _"You got eyes on the Zygone?"_

"_Affirmative. Iron Man and Doctor Banner are on your one o'clock."_

"_I can see that. Now we wait and watch."_

"_You see anything worth worry?"_

"_Unless pigeons worry you, then no."_

"_They don't worry me; just mess up my paint job."_

"_Will you two stop flirting already and work?" _Steve is using the tone I hear so often directed at my dad.

We both fall silent, but can just catch – if I squint – the smirk Clint sends my way.

His smirk is still so adorable…_Focus, Taylor!_

"_Iron Man, how are those samples coming?"_

"_Almost done, Beta. Can you fly over here and pick them up for delivery back to the jet?"_

"_Copy that."_

I jump off the roof I was situated on and take off with a whooshing roar, touch down by dad, collect the samples in my arms like a newborn baby, and take off towards the jet.

About halfway there, something in my suit starts sputtering.

Sputtering is never good, but I brush it off and continue towards the jet.

That is, until I'm suddenly not flying, but falling – plummeting – towards the sands of Kansas.

"_TAYLOR!"_

I curl into a ball, the safety of the samples long forgotten, and prepare for impact.

And it never comes.

I peek one of my eyes open to see a red and gold faceplate I have never been so glad to see before in my life.

"_Are you okay?"_

"_Fine," _I say with shuddering breath, _"Thanks."_

"_We will be talking when we get home." _His cold, clipped, almost furious tone stuns me into silence.

_Why would he be mad?_

"_Dad-"_

"_Just stick to the side and wait by the jet, we'll be done soon."_

I bow my head and do just that.

**A~A~A**

The plane ride home his filled with awkward silence, and almost everyone is either looking at me oddly or sending my sympathetic glances.

I hate sympathy.

Once we land, I try and bolt down to my room without my dad noticing, but I only make it to the living room because he's standing there, arms crossed and glaring.

"Sit."

"Dad, what's – "

"_Sit."_

I sat, albeit however warily.

"Explain to me what happened out there."

"I was flying back with the samples when my suit started sputtering and died."

"What were you _thinking_?"

"What?"

"What were you thinking out there? Why didn't you tell me your suit was having issues? Why didn't you land right away? Were you too busy staring at _Barton_?"

"What?! Dad, I thought-"

"No! No, you didn't think, Taylor! You could have gotten yourself _killed _out there! Or hurt someone else! We can't have you on the team and endangering it at the same time!"

"_Excuse me?! _That's rich, coming from Mister I-can-do-this, if-it-fails-no-big-deal, my-middle-name-is-reckless!"

"Do no talk back to me, young lady!"

"You've never had a problem with me doing it before!"

"Not my point! We can't have you endangering the team with your reckless decisions! You have no backup plan!"

"You mean like you?"

"_I _have multiple suits! You've been too busy becoming a mini-Hawkeye to bother doing that!"

"Well _excuse me_ for being good at something other than tinkering! Clint says I have talent!"

"Well go fight next to him then! I don't want you fighting next to me if you're not DEDICATED!"

"Well then, she might just be able to fight beside me, then." A cool voice interrupts our shouting match.

To my horror, Clint is leaning against the door frame. I can only imagine how we look right now, red faced and in each other's faces, screaming for all the tower to hear.

"Barton-"

"Clint-"

"_No._ Stark, I heard everything. You have vents, I use vents." He walks over to stand slightly in front of me, almost protectively.

_Is Clint protecting me? From my own father?_

"You have no right-"

"I have every right. I have every right in the world to defend talent. Your daughter is a _damn _good archer, Stark, one I would be proud to fight next to. If you can't appreciate what you've got, then _I will._" Clint growls out that last bit. My dad and Clint are now standing face to face, noses almost touching, fists clenched and eyes scorching with rage.

My dad doesn't verbally respond, instead glaring at me, at Clint, huffing, and stomping away – predictably to the labs.

Me? I'm left blinking at Clint and the space previously occupied by my dad.

"Ah, Taylor –"

"Um, eh, I-I'll be – down – range." I stutter out as I beat a hasty retreat towards the stairs.

Once I'm down on the range floor, I fling open the archery range door and run for a table.

My vision is blurred with tears as I slam my palms down onto the table, curling my fingers into trembling fists.

The first screaming, howling sob escapes my clenched jaw as I all but collapse onto the cold, hard, cement range floor.

_Why? _Why did my dad say these things? Did he mean them? Or was it heat of the battle, heat of the moment?

How could he say I'm not dedicated to what I do? Iron Beta and Iron Man have been fighting together for over _two years _now. Ever since Afghanistan. When I searched day and night for three months, barely eating or sleeping, not _living _because I was so absorbed in my computer screens, running ten scans at once because I refused to believe the people pitying me, saying he was dead and I was going to drive myself insane.

When he was found I was beyond ecstatic. I jumped head first into the Iron Man idea, once again working around the clock to make a new image of the name Stark. I supported him through the press conferences, through the entire Obie – _Stane _– debacle, through Vanko and Hammer, and I was even strong when I found out my dad – my hero, my idol – was dying.

What has changed?

I was so busy curling into a ball and bursting into a fresh round of sobs I didn't hear the door open.

"Taylor?"

_Clint…oh god no…_

"Go 'w-way, C-clint." I manage to sniffle between cries.

"Not a chance. Come on, sit up."

And suddenly, the rough and calloused hands I love, are on my back and slowly bringing me into a crumpled but sitting mess, and my head is suddenly on a broad shoulder, curled into a warm neck. One arm is thrown around my back – for both support and comfort – while the other hand strokes my arm.

"Hey, hey, shhh, it's okay…"

"N-no, it's not! How, h-how could he…"

"I know, Taylor, I know. I was five seconds away from introducing my fist and his nose."

This draws a small giggle from me, and I can almost feel the happiness and accomplishment spread through Clint.

"Now, I got you something, but you got to stop crying and sit up first. Can you do that?"

I nod against Clint's shoulder, so he slowly moves his arms as I lift my head.

Once he's sure I'm supporting my own weight, Clint points up at the table. "It's up there. Come on, let me help you up."

I take the hand that is offered to me and use it to boost myself to my feet. I walk back over to the table as I rub the salt and dried tears from my eyes and run my hands through my disheveled hair.

On the table, there is a black, rectangle box about three feet long and wrapped in purple ribbon. I glance bewilderedly at Clint, who just makes small encouraging 'well, go on!' gestures.

I gently pull the ribbon of and gingerly open the top.

What is inside makes my jaw drop.

Because there, sitting in the violet velvet padding, is the most beautiful bow I have ever seen. It's smaller than Clint's, gracefully curved, midnight black with pearl lines spider webbing out from the center grip, which is thick and looks really comfortable.

"Well, go on, don't just stare at it! Pick it up!"

I chuckle breathlessly and ease the bow of its box. The wood is smooth, the pearl lines only slightly raised from the matte black paint.

"Wow, Clint, you really didn't have to-"

"Yes," he cuts me off, "I did. With how you were shooting yesterday, I figured that if you really wanted to pursue archery, you would need your own bow."

"Clint, I-thank you."

"Oh, it's no big deal, it wasn't all that expensive, and Natasha helped-"

"No. Not only this, for what you said out there."

"It was true, you know. You are _really _good, and if you can't be Iron Beta anymore, maybe you can be Sparrow of something."

I shake my head. "No, I'll always be Iron Beta." He opens his mouth to object. "Ah-ah-ah, let me finish. I know what was said earlier. I don't like it, but my dad has a tendency to say things in the heat of anger he doesn't mean. I've worked with him for two years, Clint, and if I let one argument ruin two years of hard work, then I'm a fool."

He nods, his face showing he understands, then his beautiful blue-green-gray eyes brighten.

"Okay, enough mushy stuff, let's get you geared up and start shooting stuff!"

He grabs my hand, unknowingly sending shivers up and down my spine, and pulls me towards a pile of Velcro and plastic in the corner.

**A~A~A**

I end up choosing a black quiver like Clint, except mine has a purple rim and bottom. I also picked out a pair of black, fingerless, almost netted gloves to protect my fingers, and a standard arm brace.

It turns out Clint and I have a completely different working relationship than my dad and I – moments of silence, but also moments of laughter and banter, heavy metal eighties music replaced by chatter, bowstrings being pulled, and arrows hitting the target.

"Notch."

_Deep breaths…pull back…_

"Aim."

_Both eyes open…steady hands…._

"Fire!"

_Thwack!_

"Hey birdbrain, think you can split that?"

"Please," he snorts, "Step aside and let the master work."

I roll my eyes but move aside anyways.

I watch as his eyes gain a focus he only brings to the range, his breath evens to a deep, steady rhythm, he brings his arm up, pulls back, lines up the shot, let it fly…

…and his arrow pierces mine dead center.

"I should have put money on that!"

"You owe me an arrow!"

He just shrugs with that adorable smirk on his face. On his way back to his table, he pauses.

"Hey, Taylor, you want to see the vents and the rafters?"

I freeze from where I'm trying to get my arrow pieces out of the target.

"Are-are you sure? I mean, that's sort of your thing…"

He shrugs again. "And so is archery. I figured you'd appreciate them as much as me. C'mon, it'll be fun!"

I can't keep the grin off my face as I reply. "Okay. Let's go!"

"Alright. Just strap your bow to your back, there like that, and come over here."

I walk over to where he is standing, over by the far wall.

"See that vent cover over there? You can get up there by either jumping or using a grappling arrow. I suggest saving your grappling arrows and letting me jump and pull you up, then you follow me in. Sound good?"

"Sounds great."

He nods and motions for me to back up a little, and once I do, he takes a flying leap towards the vent, grabs on, swings it open, and dives inside.

"You that showy every time you do that, or are you just showing off?"

"Ah, you got me. Now come on, jump up." He's turned around on his stomach now so his arms are facing out.

I back up a few steps, run, and spring towards his arms, and he instantly catches me and pulls me up.

"Wow, it is really spacious in here. I mean, for a vent."

He nods and chuckles. "Where to, my lady?"

The title is meant to tease, but I really hope he can't see me blush.

"Can we go to Natasha's room? Haven't talked to her in a while."

"Alright then. This way."

He crawls off to the left, and I'm hot on his heels.

A few turns and an unintelligible amount of time later, we reach a grate cover.

Clint rattles the cover. "Knock, knock, anyone home?"

"Hi Clint, what brings you to this part of town?"

"Showing my protégé the ways of the hawk."

"So…vents and rafters?"

"…yeah. Can we come down?"

"Floor's clear."

With that, he shoves the cover open, drops out, and then calls back up to me.

"Taylor, if you think you can land feet-first, you can jump. If not, I can catch you."

I contemplate this for a second._ He catching me would reveal some major feelings via blush and stutter to Natasha, Ms. Super spy. _

_But,_ a part of me argues,_ you don't know if you can make the jump safely. _

_Well, there's no time for discovery like the present._

"I'll jump."

"Okay, swing your feet around in front of you so you're sitting normally. Then scoot to the edge of the vent, and push off really hard.

I do what he says, push, and jump…

…and land on my feet but fall to my knees.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, nothing bruised but my pride."

"Good to see you, stranger."

"Hi Natasha."

"How've you been, Ms. Mini-Hawkeye?"

"Oh please tell me that isn't catching on. I will never live that down."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I groan and shove her shoulder playfully.

She dodges and goes to sit on her bed.

"All joking aside, Taylor…I heard what your dad said earlier. I was five seconds from punching him. I've seen the work you've done with him, and you deserve better than what he gave you today."

"Clint said the same thing…about punching my dad."

She nods, seemingly satisfied, and quickly changes the subject.

"Speaking of the hawk, is that a new bow I see?"

"Oh yeah! He said you helped pick it out. Thank you so much!"

"You are welcome, plemyannitsa."

"…uh, what?"

"I said, you are welcome, niece."

"Aww, thanks, Natasha."

"Please, call me Tasha."

"M'kay, Tasha. Hey, can you teach me Russian?"

"I'd love to. I-"

Natasha –_ Tasha_ – is interrupted by her phone beeping.

"That's Bruce. He says he ordered Chinese, and to tell Taylor he got honey chicken."

"Oh, yum! Can we take the vents back?"

"To the vents!"

**A~A~A**

The rest of my evening is spent chowing down on Chinese food, crawling through vents, lounging in rafters, and learning Russian.

My dad is never seen once, and Bruce says he's locked himself in the lab, which means I can't repair my suit.

I briefly consider seeking him out and apologizing, but I figured that – as stubborn as my dad is – apologizing before he is ready will simply cause another fight.

I sink into my pillow that night happy and content yet frustrated and tense all at the same time.

**A/N**

**2,665 words. This never seemed to end. **

**The Clint/Taylor bonding up there is purely platonic for Clint. It's still illegal for them to date.**

**And Taylor is still Iron Beta. Like she told Clint. I just needed conflict and I'd had enough of the mushy 'proud papa' Tony was radiating. I needed mad Tony.**

**Any and all languages in this piece other than English come courtesy of Google Translate. Blame them, not me. **

**Keep reading, reviewing, following and adding this to your favorites! **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**

**Not much to say here…I don't own anything but Taylor, yadda, yadda…**

**I did reach 600+ views, though.**

**Anyways…**

Chapter 10

When I awoke in the morning, I couldn't hear the telltale signs of movement I normally heard in the morning, living with six other superheroes – two of which had a tendency to be _extremely _heavy-footed.

"Jarvis?" I whisper, "What time is it?"

"Good morning Ms. Stark. It is currently five a.m., most of the tower's residents are still asleep. Might I suggest joining them?"

I sigh and slide out of bed. "Nah. Sorry, J, but there is no chance I'm going back to sleep."

"Understood Ms. Stark. I will start the coffee maker."

I nod and pad out my room. I decided to walk – I stay out of the vents until Clint's awake.

Once I reached the kitchen, I could hear the coffee maker gurgling, but by the looks of things, I wasn't the only one in need of its contents.

My dad was sitting at the table, hair a mess, hunched over and glaring into his coffee mug like it was Hammer, Vanko, Stane, and Loki combined.

Instead of walking in and announcing my presence like I would with the rest of the team, I just stood silently against the door. Contrary to popular belief, my dad wasn't completely oblivious – he would notice me eventually.

And eventually he does. It takes about five minutes for him to wrench his gaze away from his steaming cup of liquid caffeine and glance at me with a shy smile.

"Taylor."

"Dad."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Well the coffee maker started on its own, so either Jarvis made coffee meant for you or the robotic apocalypse is finally happening."

I slide onto a stool after I grab my mug, and smirk into my coffee as I reply "Well we all know who would be behind that, now don't we?"

"You would be right next to me."

"Yes," I say as I set my mug down and look him in the eye, "Just like always."

He squirms and fidgets slightly as he replies. "Yeah…Taylor, I'm sorry for what I said yesterday, I was mad, and so worried, and…ugh. I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to be a mini-Hawkeye now and join S.H.I.E.L.D. or something." The last part is whispered as he bows his head like a scolded child.

"Never."

He jerks his head back up in disbelief. "What?"

I shake my head in amusement. "I'm going to tell you what I told everyone else yesterday – I've spent two years investing in our partnership, and I'm a fool if I throw that away over a few hot words."

"But I-"

"-Spoke in the heat of battle." I cut him off. "We're both _very_ aware that you, sir, have a tendency to say things you don't mean when you're scared or worried or high strung."

I can visibly see the tension melt from his shoulders and his face sags in relief.

"Good to know Beta."

I smile as I get up to refill my mug.

"And _me _work for _S.H.I.E.L.D._? You wound me."

"I know, right? What was I thinking?" My dad rolls his eyes.

"Oh – and the mini-Hawkeye thing, it seems to be spreading. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Me? Nooo, pshh, where'd you get that idea?"

All it takes is one raised eyebrow.

"Okay, yeah, I might have let is spread, but he got you a _bow_! He doesn't do that for anyone!"

"Oh yeah! Wanna see it?"

"Sure thing."

"Be right back!"

Once I return with my bow and quiver piled haphazardly in my arms, my dad takes one glance at my predicament and lifts and eyebrow and simply deadpans "We need to buy you a case."

I gently set my pile down on the counter before turning to my dad. "Why would we, as Starks, buy something when we can make some infinitely better?"

"True. What are you thinking?"

"Hard-sided, steel, velvet lined."

"Protective much?"

"It's…sentimental…"

"Why? Because Birdbrain gave it to you?"

I duck my head sheepishly. _Oh please don't let him see me blush…_

"Ah-hah! You're blushing! You _do _have a crush on him!"

"Dad, please do not tease me. Not about this. And don't go give him the shovel talk, he doesn't know, and it's kind of illegal for him to date me – a minor. Please just – just forget about it."

He nods. "Don't worry, you can trust me. I _do _keep secrets on occasion."

"Yeah, just pretend you never heard what I just said. Now, on a completely different subject, what were you doing down in the lab yesterday? I needed to fix my suit."

"Good thing I was doing just that."

"Huh?"

"Your suit. Fixing it. I re-enforced the boosters so we never get a repeat of yesterday, retouched the paint, and added arrows – Gatling gun style – to the arms."

"Really?" I can feel my eyes widen in excitement. "We _so_ need to test that!"

He nods excitedly. "And I'll get to see you shoot."

"Right – you haven't yet. Want me to bring my bow, and you bring the rest of the team? Make it an exhibition of sorts?"

"If you're comfortable with that, then sure."

"I don't mind showing off. Comes with the family."

"You bet it does. We have an entire expo used for the sole purpose of showing off."

"That you do." We both glance over towards the entryway to see a sleepy Bruce blinking at us.

"Hey Bruce. We didn't wake you?"

"No, just couldn't stop my brain."

My dad and I share a glace – our brains rarely ever shut down, always going over designs or machines or 'what can I do to this' or 'what if..'

"Got any tea?"

"Yeah. The top cabinet – to your left, keep going, there."

"Hey Bruce," my dad clears his throat, "How would you like to see Mini-Hawkeye-"

"Don't call me that."

"-in action later?" I huff as my dad waves a hand and ignores my interruption.

Bruce rolls his eyes at our banter, but agrees anyway.

"So…"

"You want to go to the labs, see your suit, and maybe get a start on the case?"

"Ah…" I glance uncertainly towards Bruce, not wanting to make him a third wheel of sorts, but he just smiles at me. "Go on, gearheads – _hey!_ – I'll be okay up here, if not in my own lab."

"Thank, Bruce!"

"Thanks, big guy!"

My dad and I exclaim as we slide off our stools and run towards the lab like kids on Christmas.

Once down in said lab, the lights, music, and holo screens all come to life.

"Jarvis, bring up Beta I and all associated files."

My dad grabs a few holograms and yanks them towards us.

"Wow." I manage to whisper as I take in the stunning new designs for my suit.

"See that new arm piece right there? That's what I was talking about. You just hold your arm out like this." he demonstrates holding his arm straight out, fisted, "and Jarvis will fire. If he doesn't, there is a voice command you can use."

"Which is…?"

"Fire arrow. Try it. Here."

I take my gauntlet as it is handed to me, and watch as it encases my arm and my dad clears a space at the far end of the lab.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Alright, whenever you're ready."

I hold my arm out, fist my hand, and line up my sights.

_Deep breaths…_

"Fire arrows."

_Pop!_

_Hiss!_

_Thwack!_

"Wow. No kickback, nice precision, nice job."

"Do I ever do anything less?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"No comment."

"Knock, knock."

My dad glances confusedly at the door while I send an amused look towards the vents.

"You can come down now, floor is clear."

Clint drops from the vents, landing on his feet, perfect as always.

"Uh, Legolas, what are you doing here?"

"Hey bolt-for-brains. I was in the area and heard an arrow hit a target. Hey sparrow."

"Thought we talked about that."

"No, you talked about it. I like the nickname."

I sigh heavily. "My dad made me a really cool arm attachment that fires arrows. Observe."

_Deep breaths…_

_Line up the target…_

"Fire arrow."

_Thwack!_

Clint rocks back on his heels, and grunts, seemingly impressed. "Nice. Lacks the finesse of a real bow, but you've got that covered. Speaking of," he glances towards where my bow rest on one of the tables. "I forgot to ask: do you need a bow case?"

"Making one." I wave my gauntlet-free hand towards the half formed case a few feet away.

"Recommend any materials? Protective as possible."

"Mine is aluminum," my dad and I flinch, "But I'm pretty sure you geniuses can figure something better out."

"Like titanium alloy siding with a thin adamantium lining?"

"Like that."

My stomach grumbles. "Erm…anyone else getting hungry?"

My dad and Clint both nod. "I'll ask the team if they're in the mood for food; but there should be leftovers in the fridge."

"With the spread of taste buds under this roof, I'll find something. Vents, Clint?"

"You going to jump up?"

"I'll try."

Clint nods as I back up, take a running leap…

…and land baseball style in the vents.

"Yay! I did it, I did it."

"Yeah, now scooch in, I need in."

"Oh. Right." I say as I wiggle to the side.

Once Clint works his way into the vents, I start hesitantly crawling to where I think the kitchen is.

"Taylor?"

"Yes?"

"We're currently over a bathroom."

"Oh. Moving on."

**A~A~A**

Once my stomach is sufficiently filled with day-old pizza, I find myself down in the range, surrounded by the team, all of which are watching with eager eyes.

Apparently when I told my dad to turn my shooting exhibit in a team affair, he got the word around quickly.

"Whenever you're ready, sparrow."

I send a jittery glance towards Clint, but he just smiles – his brilliant smile – and sends me a thumbs up.

_You got this, Taylor._

_Deep breath in…_

_Line up the shot…_

_Pull back…_

_Deep breath out..._

…_and let it go._

_Thwack!_

I can hear the gasps of shock at my bulls-eye echo around the room, but my eyes only seek out first Clint – who has a proud, friendly, dazzling smile painting his face – and my dad second, whose jaw has dropped.

The rest of my team's face mirror my dad's, minus Natasha that is – she looks like she knew I could do it all along, and she probably did.

"Thank you, thank you, you're all too kind." I manage around my laughter as I set my bow down and take a magnificent, Oscar-worthy bow.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N**

**So how do you guys like the arrow shooting suit? Sort of combined the two aspects of her talents.**

**I still do not own anything except Taylor. **

Chapter 11

"Dummy! Get back here with that, you rust bucket!"

I was currently chasing said 'rust bucket' around the lab. Normally I would have better things to do, but Dummy had just single-handedly halted all work on my current project by stealing my bag of screws.

I finally cornered the robot and gently grabbed his main arm – the clawed one – and twisted it behind him, not unlike I would to a human, all the while being careful not to severely hurt him.

While he was occupied fighting me off, my other hand reached beneath his chasse and snatched the screws, and I immediately rolled out the way before he could notice.

He just looked at me, startled, before putting off – presumably to go bug my dad using a fire extinguisher.

I rolled my eyes as I stood and brushed the dust off my shirt. "Who knew hand-to-hand combat lessons could work against robots?" I mumble, mainly to myself, seeing as my dad probably couldn't hear me over the blasting, pounding music flooding from the speakers.

I make my way back over to the project I was working on before that whole fiasco. I was improving my gloves, so that they not only shielded my fingers from bowstrings, the also protected the rest of my hands as well.

I had applied a layer of Kevlar to the palm and back of the hand, as well as making the cuff elasticized so I could slip them on in a hurry. Given how much I loved being up in the rafters and vents but was hindered by my height, I was also attaching net cannons to the wrists.

If I pressed a button on the cuffs, the net shooters would eject a nylon, Kevlar infused net that would stick to any material in the world – thanks to custom suction cups placed strategically around the edges.

If I were to fire this between two rafters, I would have an instant hammock – I can sleep almost anywhere with two stable points to anchor the net.

I can now enter the vents myself, too – just fire the net at the vent cover, pull it down, then fire at the top of the vent and pull myself in.

I also inserted the chips from my suit bracelets – if I flick my writ twice, my suit will come to my location in under 3 seconds.

I was just adding my final drop of superglue – my own recipe, it'll never come off – to the cannon and pressing it to the left glove when a familiar, smooth, British voice overtook the music.

"Attention all Avengers: Director Fury has an extremely important message regarding the Zygone attacks and will be here to collect all Avengers to the Hellicarrier. I repeat, Director Fury will be collecting all Avengers in fifteen minutes. Thank you."

I'm left staring at the speakers puzzled. I just shrug and go about cleaning my work table, and from the sounds of things, my dad is doing the same.

"What do you think he wants?"

"I know as much as you. He had better not be bringing us all the way up to who-knows-where for meeting."

I nod in agreement. "If he is, I'll fly myself right back down. After I fry his foot."

My dad chuckles as we grab our suits, I slip on my gloves, fish out my bow case from under my table, and we head out the door.

We meet everyone else in the main room, and nobody looks to know anything more than we do. Everyone seems to have been interrupted while in the middle of something else; Steve's hands are multicolored and graphite stained – he must have been sketching. Bruce's hair is unruly and his face is slightly soot stained – a look I know well as the immediate reaction to a particularly violent chemical reaction. Thor has poptart crumbs littering his face and hands; he must have been in the middle of a poptart binge fest. Natasha's uniform is slightly rumpled and her nails are hurriedly painted; she was probably relaxing in sweat pants, painting her nails in her room.

_We really need to have a girls night, 'cause that is just sad._

Clint is covered in a thin sheen of sweat; he looks like he was just down in the gym or range, beating either a punching bag or target in submission. And may I just say his biceps currently look –

_No, Taylor. Bad Taylor. Focus!_

We're all starting dazed at each other, but nobody has any time to inquire anything because soon we hear the familiar, slightly muffled, roar of jet engines outside.

My dad and I stand to let our suits unfold as the rest of the team hurries either to the elevator or stairs.

Once fully confined within our suits, my dad and I walk out to the balcony and follow the Quinjet into the sky.

**A~A~A**

As soon as our boots touch down on deck, our suits quickly fold and compact themselves into their portable containers as I pick up my bow case and jog towards where the rest of the team is filing out of the jet.

"Hey guys. Please tell me _someone _knows why on earth we are here."

Steve shrugs. "What he told you is what he told us. Let's head inside and hope it wasn't just a meeting. Or paperwork." He calls over his shoulder as he heads towards the center of the ship.

"He had better hope it's not paperwork." I grumble as I fall in step beside Natasha. "I already told my dad if it's a meeting I'm frying his foot. Paperwork means both feet and his other eye."

Natasha chuckles darkly and replies under her breath, "Right there with you. You fry, I shoot?"

"Deal. Oh, and before I forget – were you painting your nails when we left?"

"Uh, yeah, why?"

"Oh, ah, I-I uh, was wondering if you would, um, want to g-go on a girls night, you know after this is all over. You don't have to, I would-"

"I'd love to."

"Complete-wait, what? Really?"

"Yes! We must escape the testosterone!"

We stare at each other for about five seconds before completely losing all composure and collapsing into giggling fits.

And then we realize: _people are staring._

_We are giggling like schoolgirls in the MIDDLE OF S.H.I.E.L.D._

_Director Fury is living up to his last name right now._

"Ah, um, sorry Director." Natasha clears her throat as she straightens her suit and pieces together her composure.

"Won't happen again, Fury."

"It had better not. You are heroes, not toddlers. Now if you're done, as I was saying: Government bases with important and top secret technology are being attacked all over the world. The first attack was at midnight last night in Berlin, the last known attack was at a United Nations base in Siberia half an hour ago."

"How many attacks total?"

"Sixty seven."

Bruce clears his throat. "Any patterns?"

"Ah, Doctor Banner, that is where you and the Starks come in. No patterns I can see as of yet, but you three on the other hand…"

"Might be able to succeed where you have failed." I finish. "We're going to need three separate copies of maps with each and every attacked location mapped out, either printed or sent to us electronically."

"We'll get right on that. Lab 7 is open. We need to find this pattern ASAP."

"Director," my dad intrudes, "If you wanted our brains, you would have called three of us up, not seven. What else is going on?"

Director Fury sighs heavily and rubs his face with a hand.

"All of the bases that were targeted held technology developed by wealthy, private, completely non-contracted companies. Like Stark Industries."

"So our tech is in danger?"

"Yes. As are you. Until this whole Zygone crisis is over, you seven will be staying on the Hellicarrier."

_Say what now?!_

This is met with disbelieving stares and various cries of outrage all around.

"What?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Director-"

"But-"

"I will have you know-"

"That's not-"

"You can't-"

"ENOUGH!" Fury shouts – like I said, really living up to the name – before fixing us all with a stony-eyed glare.

"You will ALL be staying in rooms here. End of discussion. Someone show them to their rooms." Fury calls as he thunders out.

An agent from the back of the room – obviously thrown under the bus – skitters up to us and squeaks almost inaudibly for us to follow him.

I do so – but not before hesitantly glancing at the rest of my team and seeing my frustration reflected on all of their faces. Even Natasha and Clint don't look pleased.

I almost wish the Zygones will hurry up and attack.

Otherwise, this'll be a very _long _few weeks.

**A/N**

**I had to bring them on the Hellicarrier, I'm sorry but I just did.**

**If Natasha seems a little OOC it's just because I imagine she'd be a little more open towards another female on the team, especially one about half her age.**

**Thank you to all that viewed, favorited, followed, and reviewed this. Please keep it up!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N**

**Hey guys! **

**Thanks for the reviews by the way, you make my day.**

**WARNING! This chapter contains graphic descriptions of an injury and/or location. Don't like, don't read.**

Chapter 12

Two hours later found me fed, showered, and lying spread-eagle on a S.H.I.E.L.D. issue cot.

In a room that could pass as a storage closet.

Seriously, you'd really think S.H.I.E.L.D. would treat their heroes better.

I was bored. My dad and Bruce were _still_ with the Director, being told all they can about what was going on. They said they would come and get me as soon as they were finished.

Natasha and Clint were probably off doing agent stuff - paperwork included.

I had seen Steve heading towards the gym when we were dismissed; he was probably pounding a punching bag into submission at the moment.

I hadn't seen Thor since we arrived, and I had absolutely no clue where the blonde god could be.

Which left me with nothing to do and nowhere to be.

I was shaken out of my thoughts - thankfully _before_ I was driven insane by my own boredom - by my phone jumping in vibration and blasting out Black Sabbath's _Iron Man._

"Hello?"

"_Hey. We're finally ready, heading to Lab 7 now."_

"Oh thank god! You have no idea how bored I've been in here!"

"_You mean S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't you any toys to play with?"_

"No!"

"_Oh the horror!"_

"Right?" I laugh as I finish gathering my suit pack and lace up my boots. "On my way, meet you there in five."

"_Bye."_

I shoved my phone in my pocket as I took off at a jog in the general direction of where I assumed the lab to be.

Fifteen minutes and three grumpy agents - whom I had to ask for directions - later, I walked in the door of Lab 7.

"What's up science geeks?"

I found it hilarious that both Bruce and Tony actually responded to this.

"Oh hey Taylor. What took you so long?"

"Directions did. Why on Earth did you design this thing so big?"

"To irk Fury?" He asks uncertainly.

"Okay." I shrug. "So what are doing?"

"_You _are setting up on that table over there, and the coming over here to join _us _in staring blankly at this map."

After I drop my belongings on one of the lab tables, I walk over to the older scientists and pull up a screen.

"Got anything yet?"

"Not yet. We've only been working for ten minutes, though." Bruce sighs as he adjusts his glasses.

I don't respond as I am already enthralled in the screen in front of me. I try drawing random lines connecting two points, turning the screen, sitting at a different angle, but all my efforts turn up fruitless.

I slump slightly and sigh as I stare at the map.

_What are we not seeing?_

**A~A~A**

Almost two hours later, I still can't answer that question.

Nobody in the lab has gotten anywhere, any my need of a break longer than five minutes can't be ignored anymore.

"I'm going to get some coffee and see if I can find a range of some sort. Will you guys be good for twenty minutes? I'll be good, I promise."

My dad is the only one to acknowledge my question, Bruce just mumbles something incoherent that sounded a whole lot like a formula.

"We'll be okay. Just hurry back, and don't leave without a weapon, okay?"

"Okay." I nod and walk towards my bow case, but as soon as my dad burrows back into his work, I dart out without grabbing anything. It's S.H.I.E.L.D., how much safer can I get?

It takes me about five minutes of wandering to some upon a door that looks a lot like the one for the archery range at home.

I push it open a little to find it empty except for a familiar gun wielding red head.

"Tasha?" I call out cautiously.

She puts her pistols down and glances over towards me with a quick smile.

"Taylor. Come on in."

I walk in and let the door close behind me. "Mind if I join you?"

She looks at me oddly, like I'd just announced I had two heads. "I thought guns were - and I quote - 'not your thing'."

I just shrug noncommittally. "You're here, I'm here, I don't want to have to find a different range, and I don't feel like hunting down Clint."

She chuckles slightly. "If anyone could, I'd be you. But come on, let's get you a gun."

Five minutes later, I've got headphones on and I'm shooting like a pro. I have no idea how. I don't like this weapon as much, it's big and loud and makes my shoulder hurt with kickback, but I can aim decently and I'm content.

Movement out of the corner my eye makes me pause and lower my gun.

"Taylor?"

"Yeah Tasha?"

"So...how's life?"

"Really? That's the best you have? You live in the same tower as me."

"I know. I'm sorry, I had to try."

My laughter echoes around the gym as I set my gun down and sit India-style on the ground, patting the floor next to me.

Natasha looks skeptical but sits anyways.

"What do girls even talk about together?"

"I'd be the last person to ask. One of the ditzes in secretarial might know though."

"I've overheard them talking about makeup." I shudder.

"And gossip."

"I only like gossip if it isn't the press."

"I wouldn't blame you."

"I get allergic reactions around reporters, I swear."

"Saves you from press conferences."

I shrug. "Meh, I guess."

"I'd do the same."

We sit in silence until Natasha suggests getting coffee. We are two feet away from the door when the room is flooded in flashing red light and klaxons shake the speakers.

"Natasha!" I scream over the noise, "What is going on?!"

"I don't know!" She's fishing in her pockets for something, "Here!" She slaps an earpiece into my palm.

I shove it in my ear as we grab our guns.

"Fury! What is going on?!"

"_Ms. Stark, you and Agent Romanoff need to get down to lab 7. Now."_

Lab 7.

My dad.

Bruce.

_Oh no…_

I whirl towards Natasha. "I need to know the fastest way for me to get to lab 7."

"For you? Vents. Go!"

I spot a vent cover in the corner, pull it down with my net gloves, and pull myself inside.

_Please just let it be a Hulk out…I can deal with a Hulk out…please…_

After what seems to be an eternity, I finally reach the cover over the lab I was in earlier.

There's shouting and panicked voices coming from under me.

I kick open the vent and jump, landing in a scene of outright pandemonium.

There are agents everywhere, writing on clipboards, talking to other agents, but mainly huddled in a mass around a spot on the floor.

_Please don't let it be a body…_

"Excuse me, miss-"

"Ma'am! You-"

"You can't-"

"Taylor!"

The last voice makes me spin on my heel to see familiar faces pushing through the crowd towards.

Hands grabs me and pull me towards a quiet corner of the lab.

Bruce is to my left, one hand on my shoulder.

Steve is on my other side and slightly behind me, guarding my back from the crowd.

Clint is crouched in front of me, sitting on his haunches and bouncing slightly.

Natasha is just behind Clint, looking at me with careful eyes, trying to gauge my reaction to what is happening.

Thor is the farthest back, looking awkward, like he doesn't truly know what to do or where to be.

"What is going on? Why are there agents in here? Guys, what-"

I'm silenced by Clint's finger on my lips again – seems to be a habit – as my eyes meet his, and there I see something I never expected in my wildest dreams:

Pity.

"I will ask again and only one more time: what. Is. Going. On?!" I enunciate each word as I look my teammates straight in the eyes.

Steve exhales and refuses to look me in the eye as he responds softly.

"Taylor…your dad…"

"My dad what? Steve! My dad what?"

"Was taken. Your dad was taken."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**

**Cliffhanger! Please don't hate me. I needed one. Warning you now, it more than likely will not be the last.**

Chapter 13

_Previously:_

"_Was taken. Your dad was taken."_

I blink in complete and utter shock.

"Taken? My dad? What…I-what?"

Steve sighs and walks out of the room, motioning for me to follow.

I do follow, but not before Clint falls in step with me and grabs my hand. Normally I would be a blushing and stuttering mess at only the _prospect_ of Clint holding my hand, but now my normally swift brain is sluggish and fuzzy.

We eventually reach a bedroom – Clint's, judging by the nameplate - and push our way inside.

Clint pulls me over to the bed and sits next to me, putting his arm around me as the rest of the team files in and takes positions around the rest of the room.

Clint starts the inevitable explanation, his beautiful eyes staring into mine as he speaks in tones that convey complete and total sincerity.

"Taylor, after you left, your dad and Bruce remained working on the pattern project. About half an hour after you were gone, a few supposed 'agents' came in, demanding to see their – Bruce and Tony's – IDs. Bruce stabbed with a needle and shoved aside as the 'agents' grabbed your dad and started to cuff him. When he started resisting, like anybody with half a brain would, he was stabbed in the forearm and tazed. Bruce was then knocked out and when he came to, Tony was gone and there were agents everywhere."

I let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a whimper as I bury my face in Clint's shoulder as I try and glue together my shattered composure.

"Shhh, shhh, take your time."

I take a deep breath in and back out again as I lift my head.

"What does Fury know?"

"We haven't spoken to him yet."

"Okay then." I can feel my face twisting into slightly insane smirk. "Who wants to go rip Fury a new one? Where was his security?"

All hands raise. Even Captain Do-no-evil.

"Right then. Clint, where's my bow case?"

I take my case from his arms, unlock it, strap on all of my gear, and then turn back to the team.

"Captain, after you."

**A~A~A**

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T KNOW?!"

"Did I stutter, Ms. Stark?"

"You said you had security. Now Tony Stark - billionaire genius liked the world around, not to mention Iron Man and my dad – is missing because you obviously _didn't _have security, and you _don't know _what happened to him?"

"I do not like this attitude Ms. Stark-"

"Do I look like I care at the moment? Listen, _Director_, I cannot deal with this. Not now, not here. I need to get home. If you do not fly me, I will fly myself, danger or not."

"Ms. Stark-"

"_No._"

"A jet is waiting outside."

I nod slowly.

"I'd say good afternoon, Director, but it hasn't been. Goodbye."

I turn on my heel and stomp out to the flight deck.

"I'm flying home solo."

"Taylor, do you really think-"

"_Please. _Please, Steve. I need some time to myself, I'll be fine, I swear. "

Steve nods and walks away, but not before enveloping me in a quick yet incredibly reassuring hug.

The flight home is fast, silent, and essentially Jarvis piloting the suit. My vision is too blurred by tears to be anything but a detriment to my safety.

Once I'm safely on solid metal, I run into the house – still empty, I beat the jet home - and do what any good grieving sparrow would do: build a nest, curl up, and cry myself to sleep.

**A~A~A**

"Sparrow? Sparrow…"

I crack open my eyes, rub away the dried tear-gunk, and peer through the net I had shot in the corner to see Clint – caring as ever – standing below me with a plate of brownies.

Once he sees me awake, his face splits into a heart-melting – well, my heart, anyways – grin.

"Hey Clint. What are those?"

"Brownies, genius. Nat said something about crying girls liking chocolate, I don't deal with emotional girls without being an awkward mess, so…"

"Yes. Yes we do. Never doubt the Widow. Come on up."

He hands me the brownies and I send a rope down for him to climb.

Once he's settled beside me, I set the brownies between us as we look over the view I had given myself of the kitchen and living room.

"Nice view."

"Thanks. Knew you'd like it."

He glances down at the net we sit on and prods at it a few times.

"What are we sitting on?"

"Kevlar infused nylon netting."

"Wow! Where'd you get it?"

I laugh for the first time today as I hold up my left wrist, the attached to our nest. "Made it."

Clint has a look of stunned amazement as he gives a low whistle. "You really _are _a genius."

"No duh, Sherlock."

"I'm known for my eyes and aim, not my brain."

"Aw come on, you have to have a little bit of gray matter in here!" I say as I brush my fingers over his temple and pray to Thor he can't see my suddenly rosy cheeks.

Clint just chuckles and shakes his head before looking at me oddly and very analytically.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, I was just wondering how you were holding up."

"How _should _I be holding up?"

"Remember what I said about eyes and aim? I'm not a shrink either."

I nod wearily as I run a hand through my hair.

"I hurt. It hurts. I'm trying so hard to keep my smile glued on, keep a positive outlook, but…"

"Nobody will blame you if your smile slips. From what you told me about dedication, you're trying to find him incredibly hard to both find him and look like this hasn't affected you at all. We are here you know, and if you need a break – if you need _to _break – we're here to both piece you back together and keep looking with everything we've got."

I give him a small smile for his efforts. "Thank you. But none of us can hide from the fact that this will be a nightmare. We don't know where he his or who took him. We all have truckloads or emotional scar tissue already, this just adds another fifty pounds to our backs. Stark Industries will take a hit, stock prices will plummet. Not to mention our PR reps, oh my god the press conferences…."

"We can all help with that too. Not the business part, not many of us know much about that, but when you're out there, fending off press sharks, we'll be in here, looking for Tony and sending you funny texts."

"Just don't make fools of yourselves on national T.V., if you could avoid that."

"Welll…" Clint looks like he's pondering a really big decision, "We can try, but you know me, I make no promises."

"I will be telling Steve and Jarvis the same thing. Something tells me they will keep an eye on you monkeys."

"Monkeys? Do you know any monkeys that can do archery? If you do, I wanna meet them!"

I laugh – almost choking on my bite of brownie – as I reply.

"They've got to be somewhere in the Hunger Games, don't they, Katniss?"

"Hey, no fair!"

"Yes fair."

And then Hawkeye – feared government assassin – stuck his tongue out at me.

I thought it was adorable.

I laughed and looked down upon the rest of the team milling about below our perch.

"You know, Clint, for someone who doesn't do emotional girls well, you sure patched me up. Multiple times."

He put his hand on my shoulder and replies, his tone mirroring my own.

"You're different. You're my sparrow; protégé, friend, and bird buddy. Not to mention Tony's one of the best friends I've had in a while, and I care what happens to him."

I smile as I lean back and curl up in my nest.

Clint puts his arm around me, and I fall asleep there:

In _my _nest, next to _my_ favorite hawk, missing _my _dad like nothing else.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N**

**The last chapter was adorable, if I do say so myself. This is where the team starts looking for tony and dealing with the world's reactions to this.**

**This is dedicated to Yami the Outcast. Because she(?) is awesome and supportive and I'm nice like that. But, seriously. Thank you.**

Chapter 14

"Do I _have _to?"

"_Yes Ms. Stark, you do."_

"But I don't want to go to a press conference!"

"_It is not a matter of wants, Ms. Stark, but needs."_

"Yes. I _need_ to keep looking for my dad."

"_And the world _needs_ you to go to this conference. I will call in the board if you do not."_

"Ugh. _Fine._"

"_Thank you."_

I growl at the phone as I hang up on one of my PR reps – Shelly? Sharon? Suzy? – and fall on to my bed.

"Jarvis, remind me to tell dad to fire whomever I just got off the phone with."

"Yes Ms. Stark. Might I suggest getting dressed for the conference?"

I give the ceiling my best I-will-never-forget-this glare, but eventually slide off my bed and go hunt down Natasha.

I'm gonna need clothes.

**A~A~A**

"Ms. Stark!"

_Flash._

"Over here! Ms. Stark!"

_Flash._

"Smile for the camera!"

I am herded through the mass of flashing lights and screaming reporters by my bodyguards – two of which are Steve and Thor in tuxes – towards the podium, which also happens to be the center of the crowd.

Once I finally am broken through the last layer of people, my bodyguards retreat slightly – sans Steve and Thor, who stand slightly forward from the rest.

I take a moment to collect my words, smooth my white blouse, black slacks, and glittery blazer with matching flats, and take one more glance towards the note cards, plaster a big smile of my face, and step up to the podium.

People are shouting my name and I thank _god_ for sunglasses because without them, I'd be blind by now.

"Thank you! Thank you!" I clear my throat and lean into the microphone. "Now settle down and we can begin. Please hold all question until the end. Thank you."

"As many of you may know by now, my father Tony Stark was kidnapped yesterday afternoon while doing work for the Avengers. All efforts are being made to find him safely and bring him home. Meanwhile, I will be heading Stark Industries and making sure its public image and products continue to live up to the Stark name. Questions."

"Ms. Stark!"

"Yes, you in the tweed jacket and big glasses."

"What was your father working on when he was taken?"

"He was doing his duty as an Avenger. That is all I can release at this time. Next."

"Over here!"

"You in the pink blazer."

"What can we expect from Stark Industries with you running the show?"

"Me 'running the show', as you put it, will have no effect on the company as I fully expect it to stay up to par and to have my father returned as soon as possible."

"Ms. Stark! Ms. Stark!"

"Yes, you in the hat."

"Is it wise for a fifteen year old to run a company, even for a short amount of time?"

"I assure you, Mr…"

"Wilson, ma'am."

"Mr. Wilson, I assure you that I will keep my family's company from completely burning in my father's absence. New subject please." I can't help the slightly annoyed undertone in my voice.

"Over here!"

"Yes you in the back."

"Do you suspect anyone in the kidnapping?"

"No, I do not suspect anyone as of yet, but I guarantee you we have some of the best people in the world working on this as we speak." And it's true; Bruce is back at the tower and hasn't come out of the lab for days.

"Ms. Stark! Over here!"

"You in the beige blazer."

"You mentioned that your father was working on Avengers work at the time of his kidnapping. Do you suspect anyone on your team?"

This makes my blood run cold as the words sink in and then hot as I realize the reporter's implications.

"Anyone who suspects one of the Avengers would do _anything _to so much as make another member cry is an insane fool that has another thing coming. We are _all _currently working ourselves to exhaustion, malnutrition, and dehydration to find and apprehend who did this. So, to answer your question, no I do not suspect anyone on my team and nor should anybody else. Thank you all for your time, we are done here."

I turn on my heel and walk back into a barrage of flashing lights and yells with Steve and Thor flanking me.

Once in the limo, I inform Happy to step on it and get me some Advil before sagging into the seat and rubbing my temples.

"This is why I stay away from the PR department like they've got fleas."

Steve and Thor chuckle softly.

"But," Steve asks with a curious look on his face, "What have you done in the past?"

"Stayed in the car, or at home. My dad's done the best he can to shield me from the spotlight, up until Afghanistan, that is."

Steve nods as I turn back to Happy.

"Make a pit stop at McDonald's. A cheeseburger for me and coffee's all around – shut up, Steve, believe me, you need a coffee. Stop objecting."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good Steve."

_Buzz._

I look down at my phone and laugh at the screen.

**From: Clint**

**How come you can't find lawyers sunbathing on the beach? Cats keep covering them over with sand.**

I laugh as I remember his promise.

**Where would you learn how to make ice cream? At Sundae school.**

I'm gasping with laughter at this point.

**How'd it go? **

I quickly text a reply as we're pulling up to McDonalds.

**Question flew, accusations flew, and knives flew (no just kidding). Bad enough that I'm picking up coffees for everyone.**

**OMG I love you!**_ (Great, now I'm impersonating a tomato, thank you Clint.) _**:D Make mine a caramel cappuccino. Don't forget to treat yourself.**

**I will. See you soon.**

**See ya.**

I'm still smiling ear to ear as I take the bags from Happy.

_Mission accomplished, Clint._

**A~A~A**

"I'm home!" I shout as I step off the elevator.

Nobody responds.

I sigh and shake the bags so they rustle.

"And I come bearing coffee!"

"Yay!"

"Coffee!"

"Sustenance!"

"I swear you're an angel."

"Am I dreaming?"

"Someone pinch Clint please." I chuckle.

"Ow!"

"Thank you Natasha. No Clint, you are indeed awake. Now someone tell me what you've got."

Bruce is the first to breathe between coffee slurps.

"I might have the beginnings of a pattern. Beyond the tech thing, that is."

"And…?"

"At each attack, a necklace was left around any Zygone bodies. The necklaces depicted a snake looped in a circle."

"Uh…okay. Keep on that then. Call me as soon as you find anything, anything at all. Yes?"

"Yes. Thanks again for the coffee." He says as he turns and retreats back into the labs.

"Anyone else?"

Natasha speaks up. "Well Steve and Thor were with you – nice job out there – and Clint was researching jokes to text you. I was talking to the agents that were around the lab yesterday, no one saw or heard anything, and the CCTV footage was static for about ten minutes."

I nod and sigh. "Thanks for your effort. Keep trying, but don't forget to sleep and eat."

They nod and file out of the room.

All except Steve, that is.

I let myself fall into one of the couches and turn on the news.

"What's up, Steve?"

"Not much…I, uh, look – I just wanted to say nice job out there."

"You too. You kept me from getting shredded."

His eyes widen in shock. "Really?"

I nod. "Really."

"That wouldn't have happened –"

"-in the 40s. You know, Steve, two attacks by _aliens_ should have really clued you in by now that there are a _lot_ of things that wouldn't have happened in the forties." I tease, trying to lighten the subject that is usually a sore spot for the super soldier.

"Yeah, I guess."

"I don't think _I _would have happened in the forties. Fifteen year old genius, superhero, and part-time CEO? Yeah, uh, no thank you."

"I don't know about that. Howard Stark _was_ known for doing things that weren't supposed to happen."

"Steve…never let my dad hear that sentence exit your mouth. Read between the lines."

He pauses for a moment then begins to stutter and stammer and blush. "I-I didn't-"

"Yeah, I know." I laugh, "That's another thing: people are much more skeptical and less likely to take things at face value."

"I should start writing these down."

"And phones."

"_Oh _no. Just no. Nope. Nope."

I fall off the couch laughing.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**

**So, I really do not know what to put here. **

**I do have exams coming up, so my update schedule may change, but I'll try and keep on target. Wish me luck!**

**Oh, and Clint + Taylor = Claylor. (Yes, I know it's one sided, but still…)**

AC/DC was blasting through the speakers while holograms floated around me and Dummy chased Butterfingers around the lab.

_Normally_, this would be heaven on earth for me. Because _normally _my dad and I would be down here working on suits, cars, and fully intent on blowing stuff up.

Now? Now, I was the sole occupant of the lab, and instead of displaying blueprints, the holograms were maps, red dots showing suspected locations of Zygone hideouts.

I was holding a StarkPad, looking at pictures – no matter how gruesome – of the attacks, trying to recognize the necklace around the beasts' necks.

I'd been at it for hours, and still nothing.

I sighed and spun myself in the chair with my foot as I started yet another international image scan for the snake.

Why had the necklaces just started showing up? We'd been fighting Zygones for the better part of the week, and the necklaces just started showing up yesterday, or the day before.

Was it someone's calling card?

_No duh._

Better question: whose?

The StarkPad beeped and vibrated, drawing me out of my thoughts as I looked down at the screen.

_Scan 100% complete._

_Results found._

Well, that was new.

I sit up a little straighter as I began to access the results, trying not to get my hopes up because it could just be something completely irrelevant and unhelpful.

_Categories found:_

_Egyptian Mythology_

_Norse Mythology_

_Native American Art_

The second category caught my eye. Norse mythology was something I had first-hand experience with.

I clicked on the link to see images similar to the one I was looking at pop up, most paintings or drawings. Some were more complex, differently designed, but the idea was the same: a snake looped around in a circle, biting its own tail.

I clicked on one of the images and sent it to an empty nearby hologram.

"Jarvis, what do you know about this?"

"According to various web sources, snakes are, in Norse mythology, normally symbols of Loki."

I sucked in a sharp breath.

"When you say symbols, do you mean like Thor's hammer, or like something priests wear?"

"Generally both, ma'am."

"Right," I said as I pulled a few images onto waiting holograms. "Call the team down, will you? Tell them I've got a break."

"Of course."

I settled back and studied the pictures and waited the inevitable chaos that was to come, if I was right.

The lab doors hissing open caused me to look up.

"Taylor, what's up? You said you found something?" Steve asked as he walked towards my desk, the rest of the team trailing behind.

"Ah, yes. Thor, come here for a moment."

"What do you require, milady?" Thor boomed as he walked around my desk.

"Just come here." I pull one of the holograms over. "What does this mean to you?"

I watch as Thor's usually cheery face pales and he frowns slightly.

"This hold meaning to me, but it cannot be…" he murmurs like really doesn't want to believe what he's seeing.

I don't blame him.

I put a hand on his shoulder as I reply. "I think it is."

Thor just glances at me with incredibly old eyes, ones I don't see all that often.

"Uh, guys, care to share with the class?"

I exhale deeply as I guide a mass of holograms towards the rest of the team, then turn and face them.

"I've been looking at the Zygone necklaces, trying to extend on what Bruce found with the snake."

"And…"

"And so I did some searching of databases for any related images or topics, and you're not going to believe what I found."

I pull up the information Jarvis has sent me about Loki and turn to watch my teammates' faces and the information sinks in.

Steve looks slightly like Thor, incredibly old but with more fury burning in his eyes.

Bruce's eyes flash pure, glowing green as he takes off his glasses and rubs his hands on his temples.

Natasha's eyes and spine harden as she keeps her eyes on Clint; her eyes dark and wary, watching for his reaction.

She has good reason to.

Because Clint is staring at the screen with his eyes pure, raging, dark fire, one of his hands subconsciously gripping his bow so tight the veins in his hand pop.

"So…yeah. Reindeer Games is back."

"Is he the Master?" I'm not surprised Natasha spoke up first, she's probably the only one who can speak without making feral noises right now.

"Given that his calling card is acting as a dog tag for the Zygone beasts, I'd say yes, probably. Not to mention that the beasts have scales, and if Loki himself isn't a snake, then his symbol sure is."

"What do we do?"

"The answer to that is above my pay grade. Cap?"

Steve finally tears his gaze away from the monitors and blinks at me in surprise.

"Oh…right. Um, okay." He takes a deep breath. "First off, stay away from his scepter." he glances at Clint. "Secondly, he probably has Tony. Taylor, try doing a scan for places Loki has been known to frequent."

"Jarvis, you heard the man."

A new set of points appear on one of the maps, these green instead of red.

"Look for overlapping places."

"Okay, overlapping places coming right up…"

I mutter as I type a few commands into the computer.

Three spots remain.

"List the spots, J."

"Spots found:

Paris, France

Moscow, Russia

Vatnajökulsþjóðgarður, Iceland."

"Well, I can't pronounce anything but Moscow and Paris. Apparently Loki likes cold places that nobody can pronounce."

"Well," Natasha laughs humorlessly, "Russia does like its mind controllers."

I wince slightly as I turn back to Steve.

"Can you get these back to S.H.I.E.L.D.? See if they can get recon on any odd behavior in the area? Like scan security cameras for people with unnaturally blue eyes, horned psychos, stuff like that? And, uh, while you're at it, can you dismiss the team? Your job, not mine." I finish awkwardly.

Steve nods and, without a word, turns back to the team and makes shooing motions with one hand, the other griping the folders like he was afraid they would vanish.

_Well, _I thought, _you never know with Loki involved._

The rest of the team slowly files out behind him, each going to deal with the demons brought on by this new discovery.

Save for Clint.

Clint is still standing there, eyes dark with vengeance and staring at the monitors while I stare at him.

He notices me doing so and almost startles, blinking at me before getting up and walking out, bow still clenched in his hand.

"Hey hawk?" I call out softly as he reaches the door.

"Yeah?" He pauses but doesn't turn around.

"It's gonna be ok."

He nods once, sharply, before making it the rest of the way out the door.

Once I'm alone once more, I groan and collapse back into my chair.

_Now if I could only convince myself of the same thing…_

**A~A~A**

Three hours later, the team is still dispersed around the tower, Steve was still at S.H.I.E.L.D., and I was staring at Loki.

A picture of Loki, to be exact, on his S.H.I.E.L.D. profile.

The description under his picture caught my eye.

_Norse god of Mischief. Has homicidal, maniacal tendencies. Possesses a scepter that runs off Tesseract energy and is capable of mind control, administered by touching the scepter to the target's heart. Exercise extreme caution. _

_Great. __Loki, _my brain surmised, _homicidal maniac god with a mid-controlling scepter. He's the one who has my dad._

_That's just peachy._

My mind is thankfully lifted off that train of pessimistic thought by my phone buzzing and lighting with Steve's face.

"Any news?"

"_Hello to you too. We looked closer at each location, and the only suspicious activity we could find is in Moscow. An old abandoned fortress called the Kremlin is under repair."_

"That's not that unusual, Steve."

"_It wouldn't be, if it weren't for the fact that no government knows of the repairs and the guards' eyes are bright blue."_

"Avengers assemble?"

"_Avengers assemble. Pack warm, I'll call the team."_

I hang up and dig out my bow case and suit pack. Ten minutes later Jarvis informs me the team is on the roof and so is our ride.

I take the elevator up to the roof, where the sun is just setting on my teammates as they stand in full gear by a roaring jet.

"Let's go to Russia." I say as soon as I'm in earshot. "We have an Iron Man to save."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N**

**I'm back!**

**So they found Tony.**

**I suppose Loki has found Russia's other mind controllers to be welcoming. Psychopaths must stick together.**

**On to chapter 16!**

About halfway through the flight, while we were somewhere over the North Atlantic, Steve called us all over to discuss the game plan.

"Alright, now that you're all here, let's talk strategy. Natasha and I are team A, Taylor and Clint are team B, Thor and Bruce team C. Objections?"

There were none, so Steve continued.

"Before I start, there is an almost certain possibility that Stark is injured. Anybody that can't deal with that, sit down now or forever hold your peace." Steve says, shooting not-so-subtle glances my way.

I notice and roll my eyes. "I'm a big girl, Steve. I need to be here. Bench me and I'll fly in myself." I finish with my tone dropped and my eyes boring into his.

He holds me gaze for a few seconds before looking at his feet.

Bruce clears his throat, diverting Steve's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Right. Team A will be entering through the back door and start searching the storage rooms in the back, here." Steve points to a spot on the blueprints we're all gathered around. "Team B will be dropped, on my mark, onto the roof and enter through the vents here." Steve points to another spot in the center of the compound.

"Putting us in the center of attention, aren't you, Cap?"

"Two people dropping through the ceiling tend to do that, yes."

"Okay, continue."

"Team B will be searching the rooms and the sides, here and here. Team C is brute force, they enter on signal through the front. Thor, you are responsible for Hulk."

He hand out comms, giving an extra one to me in case I lose my suit somehow.

"As for the climate, we all know Russia is freezing. Taylor, you have heating in your suit, right?"

"Yep."

"Bruce, do you know how Hulk responds to cold?"

"He's unaffected for about five hours. Then he gets cold."

"We shouldn't be that long. Natasha, how well are you adjusted to this weather?"

"Pretty well. My suit has new heating aspects, thanks to Stark."

"Got it. Barton?"

"Same."

"I'll be wearing jackets. The serum protects me slightly, but I am human and haven't gotten around to seeing Stark about anything. I'm going to check on our ETA."

Steve disappears into the direction of the cockpit as the rest of us return to our seats to gather and check weapons and supplies.

I sit next to Clint and pull and arrow out of my quiver and begin sharpening it with steady strokes of stone against metal.

"You'll be careful?"

His soft voice startles me, and I jump to see his face mere inches from my own.

I mentally shove the color rising into my cheeks back down as I smile and reply.

"Of course. If we walk in on them torturing my dad, all bets are off. But otherwise, yes. You be careful too."

"I will."

I open my mouth to reply, but my response was cut off by Steve re-entering the cabin.

"ETA fifteen minutes. Suit up guys."

I stand and open my pack, relaxing and letting the familiar metal enfold me.

I let the suit fully form before retracting the helmet and looking at the rest of the team.

Steve is pulling on his helmet thing and strapping his shield to his arm as well as holstering a pistol for back up.

Natasha is clipping on the last of her Widow Bites and checking and holstering all of her guns.

Clint snaps out his bow and makes sure his quiver is secure before going over to check my gear, just in case.

Bruce? Bruce is just sitting of to the side looking faintly amused. _Lucky,_ my subconscious whines, _he doesn't have to do anything. Besides get angry. And that's not too hard._

I walk over to him and open my mouth to start a conversation, but once again I am cut off, this time by the jet intercom.

"_ETA one minute. Team A in position to drop."_

Everybody except Natasha and Steve move away from the door. They both quickly strap on parachutes as the ramp begins to open.

They jump, and I watch the bright blue spot that is Steve until I can't see it because of the snow.

Our comms buzz and crackle to life. _"Team A is on the ground and moving into position."_

I smile, glad they made it down, as Clint and I move towards the ramp and wait for our call.

"_Team B in position to drop, we're coming in low."_

Clint and I forego the parachutes as we nod to each other and watch as the ramp opens to show a snow covered, sparkling white roof.

I have about a second to wonder if I'm crazy.

And then I jump.

I fire up my boosters and put out my flight stabilizers as I fight the harsh winter winds.

My boots touch down about a split second before Clint's, and after a silent conformation that we are both okay, we make our way over to the vent cover on the roof. I can see Clint radioing our status back to the jet, telling them to get Thor and Bruce ready for drop.

I drop to one knee beside the cover as Clint joins me and we wait for our signal.

"_Team A moving in."_

I vaguely hear doors slam over the wind, then shooting, and I tense as I wait for my que.

"_Team B, move in! Move in!"_

Clint flings off the cover with a clatter as I dive in with thrusters at full power, Jarvis immediately scanning the area around me for possible threats.

The room around us is a hallway, not unlike one you'd find in a hotel, except wider, and instead of ugly carpeting, there are steel floors.

Strangely enough, it's empty.

"_Team B is in." _I say over the comms as I hear Clint land beside me. _"Area completely clear."_

"_Just be on the lookout Beta." _Steve warns me.

"_Will do."_

"Maybe everyone is on vacation?"

"Take the right, I'll go left." Clint whispers beside me, barely audible.

I nod and watch him string an arrow and creep in the direction of his choice before readying my repulsors and doing the same.

"Jarvis, activate thermal sensors."

My holoscreen gains a slight orange hue as the sensors take effect, but I can't sense anyone in the area.

I cautiously approach the first door, holding one hand up with repulsor charging as the other hand reaches down and springs the handle.

The door swings open and I barge in-

-only to find an unoccupied, break room-type room.

Doors two, three, four, and five produce similar results.

Door six is a bit of a mystery. Because door six is a gigantic, vault-style door with at least ten padlocks and even more keypads, which Jarvis tells me is made of tempered steel.

"_Guys, I've encountered a bit of a problem."_

"_Problem? What kind of problem, are you okay?" _Steve says above the sounds of fighting.

"_Fine, thanks, Steve. My sixth door is thick, Fort Knox style."_

"_You'll have to blast it." _Natasha enters the conversation. _"It's the only way."_

"_But what if-"_

"_The only option, Iron Beta."_

The comms fall silent. Anyone only uses my full codename when they're ultimately serious, so I take a deep breath and raise my left hand.

"Jarvis, full power to left repulsor."

My suit hums as the power runs its course. Once Jarvis informs me the power is where I need it to be, I blast the door.

The door explodes with a nuclear-sized blast, and I'm faced with another room.

This one is full of surprised looking people in black. Who are quickly scrambling for their guns.

I recover from the shockwave and revert power back to both repulsors as I start shooting and dodging bullets.

Ten minutes, fifty dead people, and a few minor dings later, I'm the only alive one in the room.

"That was ridiculously easy." I chuckle. "Were they not expecting me or something?"

I take a moment to finally look at my surroundings.

There is a single door in the back, with even more padlocks than the first.

"What is this, the White House?" I groan as I approach the second door.

I blast it and tense, ready for more attackers.

And I get nothing but silence.

And the unmistakable scent of blood and…other…bodily fluids.

I'm trying my hardest not to throw up inside my helmet - because, ew – as I approach a huddled mass on the floor that is probably the source of the rancid smell.

I nudge the mass – which I can now see is a body – with my foot, and it turns over to reveal a _very_ familiar, if not slightly overgrown, goatee.

Attached to an equally familiar face.

"_Guys…" _I whimper into the comms, _"I found him."_

A few seconds of silence. And then…

"_Hold on, Beta. We're coming." _Steve, ever the soldier, is the first to respond.

"_Stay calm, Beta. Deep breaths."_ That's Natasha. I do as I'm told, but it only helps in the slightest.

"_Hey, Taylor." _Clint's soothing tones float over the radio – ignoring Steve's request for codenames-only-on-the-comms.

"_Just calm down, listen to Natasha, I'm coming, hold on."_

True to his word, he, along with Steve and Natasha, burst through the door about two minutes later. They all freeze at the sight before them for a moment before shaking their heads and springing into action.

Clint drags me gently away from my dad and turns me away slightly. Natasha starts checking for responses from my dad, signs of breathing, a heartbeat, _anything._ I can hear Steve barking orders into his comm, telling Team C to get in here fast and for the Quinjet and med staff to standby for extraction.

Clint eventually helps me up just as Thor comes running in with the Hulk on his tail. He, like the others, freezes slightly when he sees my dad, but quickly listens to Steve's orders and gingerly picks him up and heads back towards the door.

**A~A~A**

Everyone is on edge as we make it outside about twenty minutes later. We are about twenty feet away from the jet and waiting medevac when the world lights up green.

When the light dies down, we are met with the sight of a hundred or so Zygones beasts and Tesseract soldiers.

Headed by none other than the God of Psychotic Maniacs himself, Loki.

The tension in the air around me instantly rose from 'cut with a knife' to 'a nuke couldn't even make a dent'. Clint gripped his bow so hard I was afraid for its safety. Thor set my dad down and took a protective stance over his body. Natasha put a hand on her gun. Hulk growled. Steve clenched his shield. I froze.

"Ah, hah, hah! What a wonderful surprise! If it isn't Earth's Mightiest Heroes." Loki crowed, stepping forward with the look of a cat that just got the canary.

I really hope we weren't the canary.

"Not so mighty now, are you? What with the Man of Iron lying at your feet like a doll. It pained you all to see him didn't it? I'm not usually one to toot my own horn but…" Loki spread his hands, palms up, in a not-to-sorry shrug.

"Now it's time to let someone join him. Let us see, let us see…" He spun slowly in a circle, and I could almost see him playing eeny-meany-miney-moe in his head.

"Ah ha! What about…you?" Loki pauses in front of me, scepter coming closer to my face with each passing second.

"So you, Daughter of Iron, so innocent…I wonder what would happen to that innocence if I did _this_." He jabbed towards my heart with the scepter, and I waited for either the pain of being stabbed or having my mind turned inside out.

Neither came. What _did _come is crack and an agonized muffled scream.

I cracked open an eye to see Clint standing in front of me, holding his bow like a bat, and Loki holding his nose with a hand stained red.

"No." Clint was _growling._ "You were _not_ about to do what I think you were about to do. You were not going to so much as _touch_ Taylor Stark, my sparrow, let alone take her mind or stab her. You were _not_. Because if you were? I will stick an arrow through both your eyes, let you die slowly, burn your body, and dance on your ashes. _Nobody _hurts my sparrow. _NOBODY. _Got it?"

Loki glares but nods slowly, in a creepy, this-is-_so_-not-over way. But he backs away slowly, turning back towards his army and disappearing in a puff of jade smoke.

Natasha jumps up and herds the medical team towards my dad.

The rest of the team are staring at Clint, slack-jawed and bug eyed.

"Holy crap, Clint! What _was _that?!" That, surprisingly is Steve.

Clint shakes his head and blinks as if he just realized we were there.

"Like you wouldn't to the same?"

"Not the whole dance-on-your-ashes spiel!"

Clint just shrugs and offers me a hand, which I probably take a little too eagerly.

"Come on, we have a hospital to be at."

"Is your bow okay?"

Clint just laughs and shakes his head, "Just fine. Now c'mon."

I allow myself to be led back to the jet, where the ride to the nearest hospital is fast and heavy with silence.

I stare out a window the whole way there, one train of thought occupying my mind.

_He has to be okay. Clint didn't just scare off Loki for Loki to win by killing my dad. Please let him be okay…_

**A/N**

**Ta-DA! Protective Clint! And they found Tony. **

**Keep reading and reviewing and following and favoriting! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N**

**I have a question for you guys: should I kill Loki at the end of this? And should he stay dead?**

**My mom and I have differing opinions on this. I think he should stay dead because he was supposed to die in **_**Thor**_** but didn't. He probably should have died at the end of **_**Avengers**_** but didn't. He's here, and I want him dead for real, but my mom says I can't kill him, I don't know why.**

**Anyways, onto the story.**

Chapter 17

The smell of antiseptic and bleach flooded my nostrils as I stepped into the hospital room and made a beeline for the plastic chair next to my dad's bed.

"They have news." I look over my shoulder to see a scrub-clad Bruce standing in the doorway.

"And?"

Bruce sighs and rubs his forehead. "Broken jaw, broken foot, head injury that needed seven stitches, and he's lost a lot of blood. He'll be in here anywhere from three weeks to a month. Could be worse."

I nod grimly. "It always could be."

"Any ideas on why he's in such good shape?"

"Loki's toying with him. With us. Kidnapped him, got us to go all the way to Russia to get him back, and injured him enough to make him down but not out."

Bruce nods slowly. "I see your point. I'll got tell the others you're okay, what you just said, and about Tony's condition."

"Don't make them worry, okay? And can you discreetly check up on Clint? I want to know he's okay after that thing with Loki."

Bruce nods with a small, slightly annoying, almost _knowing_ smirk on his face. He turns to leave, but pauses at the door to look back at me, smirk still plastered on his face.

"What?"

"…nothing." With that he turns and goes towards the waiting room.

I'm left staring at the door in confusion. But I decide _whatever_,_ he's a scientist, he's allowed to be weird._

I turn my attention back to eldest engineer in the room, sinking back into the uncomfortable by his bedside and grabbing his hand gently.

My dad has bandages wrapped around his head, preventing harm to his jaw. I laugh slightly when I realize they had to shave most of his hair to stitch the head injury and boy, is he going to be mad. He also has a cast from about halfway down his calf to his toes, most likely setting his foot. Needles and tubes protrude from both arms, mainly the one farthest from me. One I can see is an IV drip, another I can assume is morphine, and one I'm pretty sure is a catheter.

"Taylor?"

I jump and see Bruce standing in the doorway again, this time with tray of coffees in hand and five other people behind him.

"Hi. Come on in."

He does, going to stand on my dad's other side, handing me one of the coffees along the way.

"How is the health of the Man of Iron?" Thor spooks everybody by speaking in a much more quiet tone than his usual boom, albeit still a normal voice level for everybody else.

"He's sedated right now, just to let the morphine kick in and the IV to hydrate his system. Doctors say he should be waking up anytime now."

I nod as I take a sip of my coffee and then instantly gag because you'd really think hospitals would be more, well, hospitable towards worried loved ones.

Clint sees my expression and laughs, drawing my attention towards him. I quickly look him over to make sure he's okay.

_All in one piece? Check._

_Adorable smirk? Check._

_Eyes twinkling? Check._

"Taylor?" Bruce is looking at me funny.

"What? Sorry." I say as I try and return my cheeks to my natural skin tone.

"Are you feeling okay? Your face looks a little red."

"I'm fine."

"Just humor me and let me check for a fever."

I nod and he crouches slightly to put a hand on my forehead. As soon as I see his eyes, though, I can see his concern is simply a façade for the knowing amusement shining in his eyes. I freeze because _oh my god how much does he know?!_

I twitch an eyebrow in question and Bruce responds by jerking his head towards Clint and nodding almost invisibly.

I duck my head slightly as Bruce grins and pats my shoulder as he stands.

"You're fine, it must just be your skin recovering from the cold."

I open my mouth to change the subject, but a rustling sound coming from the hospital bed does that just fine.

I look over to see my dad's eyes fluttering slightly.

"Dad?" I whisper softly, "Can your hear me?"

"T…T'yl'r?" His words are slurred by medicine, but I understand what he needs. I close the gap between me and the bed as I take his hand once more.

"I'm here. Can you open your eyes? The team really wants to see you."

My dad obliges and looks around the room at the six other people now huddled around his bedside. "Nice of you…to gather…'round my deathbed."

"Ha, ha, Dad, you aren't dying, it's just a few broken bones."

"It feels like I'm dying!"

"You say that every single time you're in a hospital. I promise you, you aren't getting rid of us that easy."

"My head is cold. Why is my head cold? I-" I watch as my dad pats his head and laugh at the look of abject horror that spreads across his face.

"They had to," _gasp_ "do head surgery," _snort_ "because you were bleeding."

"But…" I'm thrown into a new round of giggles at his pout.

"Don't worry, it'll grow back, awesome as before."

"It better. Hey, I'm hungry, can someone go get me food?"

I sit back in the chair as Bruce and the team tread out of the room in search of food.

**A~A~A**

Three agonizing, overly-annoying Tony filled weeks later, I'm walking back into that hospital room to slap a beanie onto my dad's now fuzzy head and then leading the way down the hall to sign the discharge papers.

"Any news on the Loki situation?"

"I've narrowed his locations down to a few favorite hiding places of his. London seems to be a hotspot right now."

"What is it with Loki and Europe? First Germany, then Paris, then Moscow, now London?"

"It's kind of the European equivalent of New York."

He just shrugs as we walk towards the awaiting car.

The car ride is silent until the mini T.V. is turned on to show a live news broadcast, showing footage similar to that of the Manhattan attack.

Except Manhattan was years ago and not even news companies' use footage that old.

And the fact that I can see Big Ben.

"Happy, get us home. _Now._"

Happy complies.

**A~A~A**

"Are we sure?"

"No, Cap, we're not. We didn't just watch the London Eye glow blue and then _explode._"

"Sarcasm not appreciated."

"But it was needed."

"Guys! Focus! London is at stake here!" Dad cuts in, the focused one for once.

"Do we have the go ahead from Fury?"

"What part of _London is at stake _did you not understand? I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to London whether Fury wants me to or not."

Steve sighs and looks around the room, seeing my words mirrored on every face in the room, and knows he is outnumbered.

"Suit up, then. I'll get a jet."

The occupants of the room scatter as suits are unfolded, knives are sharpened, and guns are loaded and holstered.

I was just snapping my bow case closed and holstering my knife when Steve came in, somehow suited up, and told us the jet was ready. I shouldered my suit pack and quiver and followed Clint out the door.

Once seated (but not comfortable) in the jet, I grab a StarkPad to look over battle plans and the enemy's specs. We don't have a battle plan, since nobody liked the 'I have a plan: attack' strategy, so we're (read: Captain) thinking one up on the battlefield.

We do that a lot.

Natasha and Clint have us flying due east at Mach 3, so the flight is supposed to take about two hours, which means two hours to sit and wait and try really hard not to freak out about the fact that I'm two hours away from the battle of my life.

Trying not to freak out. Keyword: trying.

My dad must have noticed my face, because he sat down next to me and distracted me using the oldest trick in his book: debating Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics.

**A~A~A**

One hour forty-nine minutes later (but who's counting?), dad and I are just starting to debate the possibility of _Terminator_ becoming reality when Natasha informs us that we are approaching our destination and we need to get suited up.

Dad helps me up as our suits assemble around us, casing us in the oh-so-familiar feel of metal and holoscreens. I watch as Steve straps in his shield, Thor calls his hammer, Bruce's eyes flash green, and my dad squares his shoulders. Battle of my life? Here I come.

The ramp lowers.

It's show time.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N**

**Viewers have decided to keep Loki alive. If only so he and Yami the Outcast can date. But I can work with this.**

**I just realized that the sequel time skips enough to be in line with Age of Ultron. The sequel will not be Age of Ultron. Team dynamics are perfect as they are and I feel introducing Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch will throw everyone for a loop.**

Chapter 18

_BOOM!_

I roll in mid-air like a fighter plane to avoid an explosion and watch as it crumbles Cleopatra's Needle instead.

"_Cap? How's that game plan coming?"_

"_I think I've got something. Can everyone find me?"_

I glance at a blue blinking dot about five miles west of my location. _"Roger that, Cap, I'm on my way."_

"Jarvis, give me more on the thrusters!"

I take a sweeping right turn as I feel myself speed up as Jarvis obeys.

I fly towards the Captain, dodging explosion, falling rock, and falling aliens (courtesy of Thor, Hawkeye, and Iron Man.)

Once I spot the man wearing the flag, I shoot the beast he is fighting before landing next to him, soon joined by my dad and Thor, as well as Hulk, Natasha, and Clint, who must have found a way off of the building he was perched on.

"Alright, Cap, plan?"

"Hawkeye, find a perch. High up. Call out patterns, shake off tails. Iron Man, Iron Beta, you have the perimeter. Keep the attacks contained. Thor, aerial support. And you have lightning, use it. Widow, you and I keep the attacks grounded, as out of the air as possible. Hulk, smash, but only bad guys. Got it?"

We all nod and offer quick words of confirmation before blasting, jumping, flying, or running off.

"_Iron Man, take the west side of the city, I'll take the east."_

"_Roger that, Beta. Be careful."_

"_You too."_

I zoom off towards the eastern side of the city, blasting a Zygone off the walls of Buckingham Palace on my way.

I just have time to realize Parliament owes me _big time _before I have to dive to avoid the teeth that would have taken my arm. I shoot my would-be attacker in the head before turning just in time to blow up another one that would have had the Widow's leg.

"_Hawkeye, come in!"_

"_Hawkeye here. Everything okay, Beta?"_

"_Fine. Where are you perched?"_

"_Warehouse on 5__th__. I can see you, look down and to your left."_

"_Ah. Thank you, and you have one closing in on your back."_

"_Thank you."_

"_Don't mention it."_

I'm torn away from our conversation by something grabbing my leg and pulling hard. I look down to see a monstrous beast using my leg as a chew toy. It doesn't even flinch when I shoot its eye.

Then I had an idea. A cartoon-light bulb-above-your-head type of idea.

"Jarvis, blast the left thruster."

I watch as the beast's eyes spring open in shock and pain before shaking its body loose and punching another beast.

"_Does anyone have any idea where these things are coming from?"_

"_Well," _my dad replies, panting slightly, _"there's no blue glowing portal and I don't have a tower in London, so no, we have no clue. Keep fighting until we either kill them all or blow up their control unit."_

"_Right then. Beta out."_

I blast one Zygone through the wall of a building while blowing another back a few feet. Two more are closing in on me – one from either side – and I just wait until the last minute to blast upwards, sending them careening into each other.

I then get the appearance of my first Tesseract soldier – a buff, meaty, Popeye type guy with a tattoo and his neck and a scar splitting his face.

"Can I help you?"

"You must be destroyed, hero." His voice is monotone and emotionless, almost robotic.

"Ah, sorry, my name isn't 'hero', it is Taylor. What's your name?" I offer a hand in faux politeness.

He glares and aims his pistol. (You'd really think Loki would better supply his soldiers.)

I aim a missile. His eyes barely have time to widen before he is nothing but a greasy spot on the pavement.

I fly away quickly with an evil cackle. (Yes, heroes have cackles.)

"_Sometimes you scare me."_ Hawkeye say warily over the comms.

"_Sometimes?"_

"_You sleep like a puppy."_

"_How would you know that?"_

"_I-"_

"_Beta, ON YOUR LEFT!" _Steve shouts suddenly, and I drop just in time to have a monstrosity of a Zygone fly over me and get shot with an arrow instead of eating me for lunch.

"_Thank you Steve."_

"_Don't mention it. But please get back to work, you two."_

"_Sorry."_

"_I need to get up on a building on Bakerson," _Black Widow comes in over the comms,_ "Who is close that can give me a ride?" _

I glance at my holoscreen to see a red dot about two miles south.

"_I'll be there in two, Widow."_

I make a U-turn and lose altitude as I fly to where the Widow waits.

I dive even lower as I get a visual on my intended target.

"_Hold your arms out straight."_

She does so, and I scoop her up under the armpits and fly up fast to escape slamming into the ground.

"That one, right there."

I bank left and lower again as we near the building. She rolls smoothly onto the roof as I let go.

"How are you going to get down?"

"I'll manage."

I shrug to the best of my abilities in the suit before blasting away and shooting a Zygone off of Big Ben.

Parliament still owes me. _Big time. _Like, statue big.

I drop to avoid a flying beast – they can fly now? How can they fly? Not fair. – and shoot it in the under belly as it passes over me.

"_Hey guys, heads up. They can fly now."_

"_What?" _my dad replies in something he will forever deny is a whine, _"Will someone please explain to me how that is fair?"_

I laugh as I blast two more grounded beasts away while kicking another one in the neck.

I do a backflip to avoid one set of teeth and spin to kick the beast in the head. Another beast leaps over the first's body, coming straight for me, but I punch it in the nose – just like in the movies.

I cheer and stop to catch my breath.

I fail to notice the army behind me, blocking out the sun.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N**

**More battle coming right up. Thanks to Yami the Outcast for the awesome review.**

Chapter 19

I spun around to become face to face with – by my best estimate – a hundred and fifty or so snarling, _flying_, beasts, and another fifty or so blue-eyed soldiers.

I would really like to say that I charged into battle, repulsors at the ready, slaying anything in my path.

But my dad says not lie, unless it's to the press or enemies.

Honestly? I turned tail and flew.

"Jarvis, full power to the thrusters!"

I zigged and zagged through the streets of London at about the speed of sound, rolling and ducking and dodging teeth and falling monuments.

"_Mayday! Mayday! This is Iron Beta, I have about two hundred trailing me and I need backup ASAP!"_

No response.

"_Guys?"_

Still nothing. I huff and bank left to avoid a set of teeth that narrowly miss my head.

_Okay, if they're aren't helping, then I need somewhere to hide. And fast._

I scan the horizon to see nothing but the most iconic clock in the world.

_Big Ben! That's it! Service areas behind the clock face!_

I turn widely right as I pick up even more speed and head straight for the base of the clock.

Closer, closer, _please don't let me crash…_

I flip up at the last second, listening to the yelps and crunches with glee as Zygones go careening into the clock.

I then spiral up the clock, taking tight and fast turns, and make more beasts and soldiers crash with each turn.

Once I reach the iconic clock face, I secure my helmet smash through the glass between four and five.

Once inside, I tumble down onto a deserted service catwalk and scramble away from the hole, where dripping muzzles are now trying to force their way inside.

"Jarvis," I pant, "How many are still out there?"

"Approximately one hundred, ma'am."

"Well that's peachy. Any luck on the comms?"

"Not as of yet. A distress signal will be sent out at the earliest convenience."

"The earliest convenience might not be quick enough, J."

I get up and find the stairs, hoping to get down to the base level for the service entrance.

I eventually make it down two hundred something steps-

-only to be met with a boarded door, shaking with the sounds of barks and howls and snarls.

I sit in defeat, sighing as I run a hand through my sweaty hair. I disassemble my suit, both in order to keep from overheating (me _and_ the suit) and to prevent losing power.

I was just finished snapping on my emergency comm when the first buzz came in.

"_-ta? Beta, come in!"_

"_Iron Beta here!"_

"_What is going on, Beta? The last we heard of you was that mayday!" _Cap's voice is stern yet unbelievably worried.

"_Monster chased me, got stuck inside the Big Ben, I'm trapped here now, so I think I'm safe for the time being. All okay out there?"_

"_We're all standing. Iron Man got a little dinged and Widow may have a dislocated shoulder, but we're okay. Stay where you are until further notice. Got it?"_

"_Got it."_

I crawl over to my suit and unzip it, intending to do a diagnostic check to make sure all systems are a go, per say.

I would be doing just that, if I could only get it open.

My suit is currently stuck as a backpack shaped hunk of black and purple metal, and none of my override commands are working.

And I am panicking.

"_Captain, I, ah, got a bit of a problem."_

"_What is it, Beta?"_

"_My suit is not opening and I don't have my bow."_

I can hear the air rush as he sighs. _"Just – just stay still if you're sure you are safe, we'll be there as soon as possible."_

"_Alright." _I reply in a soft squeak (totally not a whimper.)

I curl into a ball and scoot into the shadows, waiting for someone, anyone, on my team of magnificent heroes to come and be my knight in shining armor.

(…preferably Clint.)

A~A~A

An unknown amount of time later, the barks outside of the door are joined by metallic clangs and steady – albeit almost inaudible - thwacks.

I jump to my feet and listen as the last bark turns into a gurgle and then silence.

"Beta! Beta, can you hear us?"

"Cap! Hawkeye! I have never been so glad to hear you people in my life!"

"Listen, Beta, the door is jammed from in there. Can you force it open?"

I eye the last plank securing the door and shake my head.

"Not by myself."

"Can you try and, like, throw something against it?"

I look around my immediate area for something heavy enough to throw against it.

My eyes quickly land on my suit pack.

I bite my lip as I weigh my options.

_Your dad can build another one._

_But it'll take forever, and that is my _suit_ we are talking about here._

_Do you want to be trapped in this tower for eternity? I think not! Just throw the freaking suit!_

I hiss out a breath as I pick up my pack by one strap, lean back, and sling it over my shoulder at the board.

I let out a sigh of relief as the board snaps, but wince as my suit does too.

The remains of my suit land with a clatter and a few clunks just as Hawkeye and Captain fling the door open and race inside.

"Are you okay? What was that?"

"My suit…I had to throw my suit."

Captain shoots me a sympathetic look before thrusting my bow case at me and telling me to suit up before running back outside.

Hawkeye waits for me as I quickly strap on my gear.

"Where are you perched at the moment?"

"Down on forty seventh. You can get yourself up, right?" He nods towards my wrist shooters.

"You bet."

He just nocks an arrow and takes off, and I'm right on his heels.

A~A~A

Two hundred arrows alter, we've made a considerable dent in the enemy forces, but there are still a whole lot out there and only two arrows left.

"Hook this with a grappling tip, shoot it over there, and swing. I'll be right behind you, I promise!"

I spare him a dubious glance, but he just gently shoves me towards the right direction.

I take a deep breath, notch the arrow, line it up, and shoot.

Once the line is fully extended and taught, I glance over my shoulder at my crush before stepping off the edge and swinging into the neighboring building.

I land on my back and let out a groan because that _hurts. _

Don't try this at home, kids!

I eventually sit up and look around the place. It seems to be an abandoned warehouse of some sort, full of dust and broken glass and….is that a blue glow in the corner?

I walk a little closer to discover that, yes, it is a blue glow, surrounding a watermelon sized device.

The blue bubble seems to be reaching out in flares, almost like nerve centers in the brain.

The brain!

"_Guys! I found the center!"_

"_Oh my god really? Is it another portal?"_

"_Ah, negative, Hawkeye, it doesn't seem to be."_

"_What does it do, Beta?"_

"_I don't know, Iron Man."_

"_Well…poke it."_

"_Very carefully."_

"_What Cap said."_

I reach out a tentative finger and prod the shield.

As soon as my skin makes contact, the shield disappears and something lights up on the device.

Closer inspection reveals a two minute timer.

Uh-oh.

"_Guys, it's a bomb."_

"_A what now?"_

"_Bomb, dad. Big boom device. If I can deactivate it, it should take down the entire army."_

"_How long?"_

"_A minute thirty."_

"_Taylor, get out now!"_

"_Not fast enough without my suit or bow or something. Better to stay here and try and diffuse it. If I don't make it out, don't miss me too much. Dad, put me on a private line."_

My comms beeps and my dad's voice rings out solo.

"_What in the world are you thinking?"_

"_Just like Manhattan."_

"_You are FIFTEEN! No suicide plans for you yet! Let me think of something."_

"_No time. Tell Clint I love him, know that I love you."_

"_Taylor Maria Stark! You-"_

I unhook my comm and throw it against the nearest wall as I turn my attention back to the bomb, now with thirty seconds left.

_Deep breath…_

Look for the red wire.

Blue, blue, yellow, green, orange…

_Twenty…_

Blue, blue, green, yellow…

_Ten…_

Orange, purple, black…

_Five…_

Purple, yellow, orange…

_Four…_

Green, black, blue…

_Three…_

Blue, black, yellow…

_Two…_

Green, orange…

_One…_

Red!

I reach to clip it, but never make it there.

_BOOM!_

Everything around me gets white and hot as I a shoved backwards by an invisible hand.

Something stabs me in the shoulder blade, but I am loosing awareness too fast to care at the moment.

The last thing I see before I black overcomes me is fire, the last thing I smell; smoke, the last thing I feel; pain.

**A/N**

**Should I make a Tony POV chapter while she's knocked out?**

**P.S.: I did not kill her.**


	20. Author's Note :(

**A/N**

**Hey guys. I don't think I'll be updating today. I had exams and dog watching and homework, so… **

**Tomorrow I will post the Tony POV chapter, though! **


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N**

**I'm back! As promised, here is the resolve to the cliffhanger in 19. **

**I got a 90 on an exam I had today, is it sad that one of the first things to go through my mind is 'I can't wait to put this in my next author's note!'? I need a life, badly.**

**WARNING: Graphic description of injuries.**

Chapter 20

Tony's POV

The explosion was blinding, even with the enhancements of the suit. I had to force full power to all of my thrusters just to stay still hovering after the shockwave hit.

Once my body was stable, my mind was at war. The rarely used 'common sense' part of my brain was saying to _move away from the explosion! Move away NOW!_ while the 'parental' part of my brain was saying _Taylor! Taylor was in there, go get her you idiot!_

They did this quite often.

I shoved away the common sense and angled the thrusters for maximum speed. My daughter was in there and I was going to get her, and nobody, nor nothing, could stop me from doing so.

The flight to the burnt-out shell of a warehouse took mere seconds, and my ears were filled with worried voices the moment I touched down.

"_Iron Man, do you see anything?" _I could hear the plea in Steve's voice as his leader mask cracked, Taylor mattered to everyone on this team _so much._

"_Negative, Captain, not yet. I suggest you mobilize the team, I could use all hands on deck."_

"_Roger that, Iron Man. We'll be there in five."_

The comms fell silent as the team was rounded up and I began to sift ever so carefully through the rubble.

"Jarvis, turn on the heat sensors. And scan for Beta I."

"Heat sensors engaged, sir. Reading from the suit are coming from about five miles south of your position."

I swore softly. The whole Big Ben fiasco. She had shed her suit to prevent overheating and then used it as a battering ram on the way out after it had gotten stuck. Normally I'd be congratulating her quick thinking, but now I knew she had destroyed all easy ways of finding her along with all protection she might have had.

_Well,_ I sigh, _her last name _is _Stark. And we don't do easy._

My heat sensor shrieks as it registers five new signatures. I look up and momentarily disengage the sensors to clear my vision and watch as my team jogs towards me, Natasha and Clint sprinting a few feet ahead.

"Stark! Got anything yet?" Clint shouts as soon as he is in hearing range, the hawk's voice so hopeful for his sparrow.

I shake my head, and watch as his face falls momentarily and Natasha growls what sounds like a curse in Russian before both of their masks are rebuilt and they set themselves to joining Cap, Thor, and Hulk in digging furiously.

"Spread out. Iron Man, take the northeast corner. Widow, go northwest. Hawkeye, you're center on the right side, I'm center left. Thor, southwest corner, Hulk, can you take the corner behind you?" Cap's voice is soft yet commanding and no one argues, we all want to achieve the same goal and quickly.

We dig in silence. I'm glad because I'm trying to shove back all the 'what if's' and memories and emotions alike, essentially doing what I do best: building a robot.

Of myself. (Theoretically impossible as of right now, but _principle._)

My thought are interrupted by a shrill scream – in Russian.

There are only two people I know that can scream a) that high and b) in that language.

Natasha and Taylor. Given the circumstances…

"We found her! I repeat we have found Taylor! Stark, get over here now!"

I scramble towards the gathering group of superheroes and wriggle my way through the crowd.

I reach the center and all breath leaves my lungs with a whoosh and I gag.

My daughter lies before me, against what might have once been a wall. Her face is pale, bruised, and bloody. Her limbs are akimbo, looking uncomfortable but hopefully not broken. Most of the blood not on her face is spilling from her shoulder, which has been impaled almost all the way through with a razor sharp piece of now red-stained steel. The steel is angled dangerously close to her heart, and my hand subconsciously floats towards my arc reactor. The entire right sleeve of her spandex under suit is burnt away, her right arm littered with angry red, puckered, blistered burns.

I'm barely aware of Bruce – somehow transformed and wearing sweatpants - by my side, eyes flashing green as he calls over his shoulder for someone to radio for an ambulance.

Someone's hand is steady on my shoulder, and I whirl around to stare into the shaken face of Captain America.

He nods out of the ruined warehouse to where sirens wail and lights flash to signal the arrival of the cavalry.

I rush out just behind the stretcher and identify myself as family before vaulting into the back of the ambulance, suit and all, before settling out of the way while clinging to my daughter's uninjured hand.

I'm not big on religion – save for Thor – but I pray for the ambulance to just _go faster._

**A~A~A**

_One, two, three, four, turn._

_Four, three, two, one, turn._

_One, two-_

"Tony."

I jump and pause my pacing as I look up into Bruce's concerned face and raise an eyebrow in question.

"Come and sit down, you wearing a hole in the carpet will help no one."

"You know that if I sit down I'll be back up in a minute, right?"

"Quite aware, Tony. Try and focus on other things."

"You mean _other _than the fact that my daughter got blown up?"

"Yes. Please?" He nods towards the almost empty row of waiting chairs.

I sigh in defeat and allow myself to be nudged towards an empty chair, next to Natasha.

I run a hand through my hair, sweat and grime standing it up straight.

I rest my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands and have full intent to stay that way.

That is, until I hear the doctor walk in.

"Mr. Stark?"

I snap my head up to stare at the doctor – his name tag reads Doctor Cornish – and brace myself for the news.

"Don't sugar coat anything, doc, I'm a big boy."

The doctor nods, sighs, and adjusts his glasses before beginning.

"Ms. Stark –"

"Taylor."

"Right. Taylor has severe bruising across her entire body but, thankfully, no internal bruising or bleeding. She has lost over a quarter of her body's blood supply and another quarter was toxic from the carbon dioxide in the smoke. Her right arm has been severely burnt and bruised, and the shoulder injury might be unsalvageable, we will work to save her arm but keep in mind amputation seems like a likely prospect right now. She seems like a fighter, so don't give up just yet."

"Oh we won't, doctor. Nobody knows Taylor better than this team." Steve says with a small sad yet proud smile on his face.

The doctor nods and tells us we can see her now. Normally it would be one at a time, but, _hello_, Tony Stark and the Avengers here,

We are led to a hospital room I don't believe I will be leaving anytime soon. The doctor lets us in and steps aside so we can see the patient.

Taylor is unconscious and white as the sheets she rests on, wires and tubes spilling from beneath her flimsy hospital gown. The bruises peppering her face stand out like sore thumbs against her ashen cheeks, and the cuts look like roses against snow. Her right arm is bandaged from fingertip to shoulder in stiff, chalky, plaster, and she couldn't be more still. Or quiet.

I take a deep breath and sink into the chair to the right of her bed, Clint doing the same on the left. Bruce has found his way over to the monitors, and I'm glad her vitals are being assessed by a doctor I trust fully. Thor is off in the center of the room, looking concerned but uncomfortable at the same time. Natasha is standing at the foot of the bed just in front of Steve, her hands white-knuckled as she grips the bed rail like someone is going to steal it from her. Steve is gripping his shield in the same manner, his face stony but concern leaking through the cracks in his eyes.

They all have one thing in common: eyes shining with concern and cold with fury at the same time.

None of us will sleep until Taylor is safe and whoever did this is dead by one, if not all, of our hands.

"What do we do now?" Clint's voice is not that of a hardened assassin, but instead that of a lost and desperate child; soft and pleading.

"We wait. And do what we do best: avenge."


	22. Chapter 21

**A/N**

**Almost 40 reviews and over 2,200 views! Thank you guys so much!**

**Please read the AN at the bottom, it has Russian translations.**

Chapter 21

_Beep._

Jarvis, turn it off…

_Beep._

Jarvis?

_Beep._

I open my mouth to call for Jarvis again, and I realize _I can't._

My tongue is dry and puffy and my jaws are pried open. There is something stuck down my throat making it hard to breathe, and I want to breathe and _I can't_.

My panicked eyes soon find my dad's, the owner of said eyes is leaning cautiously over me and his mouth is moving.

"-down, Taylor, don't panic. We're in the hospital. You have a breathing tube stuck down your throat." He pauses to look at something past my other shoulder. "Clint, go get a nurse, tell them she's awake."

_Clint? Clint's here?_

I try and turn my head to look behind me, but my dad puts a hand on my cheek in impede my efforts.

"Hey, hey, keep your head still. Focus on me, there, just like that. Keep still…"

My dad trails off as Clint comes jogging back in, followed by a boisterous nurse with clicking heels.

"Hold still, sweetie, tilt you head back….there, now say 'ah' _(that's somewhat impossible, lady)_, good…there!"

The tube slides out of my throat with a gross squelching sound as I gasp and heave for air.

I nod at the nurse and she takes that as her dismissal, promptly click-clacking out of the room.

"So," I glance at my dad, still panting the slightest bit, "what'd I miss?"

My dad takes a deep breath, look uncharacteristically weary and old, before hesitantly replying.

"A _lot._ God, Taylor, I was so scared…"

I my lips quirk up slightly as I reach out the hand closest to him – the right one – to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

And, again, _nothing happens._

I shoot a panicked glance at my right side, where a mound of pillows and blankets is shoved tightly against my side but I can't actually see my right arm.

I tear my glance back up to really look at my dad. He not only looks _really_ weary and old, his hair lacks its usual gelled style and lies limp on his forehead. He has bags the size of small countries under his eyes, and his eyes themselves are puffy and red, as if he'd been crying.

I quickly turn my gaze over my shoulder to see my dad's condition mirrored on Clint's face.

"Guys, what is going on? How long was I out? And what's up with my arm?" I can feel my voice rising in both volume and pitch and my breaths getting shorter and shallower with each word.

"Hey, Taylor, shhh." Clint quietly pipes up from behind me. "Calm down or nurses will come and evict us. You don't want that, right?"

No, I don't. So I take a deep breath, count to ten, and try again in a lower, more clipped tone.

"How long was I out?"

"Two weeks."

_Two weeks…what happened?_

I silence my thoughts and exhale shakily before asking my next question.

"And…and my arm?"

My dad stares mournfully down at my right side before looking at me again, and I can see tears welling in his eyes.

"It was too badly burnt, and you got stabbed almost clean through in the shoulder. They couldn't save it, Taylor."

My world just _stops_.

And then it sinks in.

I only have one arm.

I have LOST AN ARM.

I choke out a wail as I bury my face in my dad's chest, his arms wrapping around me like I'm five again and I've scraped my knee.

Except this time, I lost a limb.

I can feel Clint's hands hesitantly stroking my hair and rubbing my back, like he feels like he really shouldn't be here anymore, but nobody's told him to leave, so…

I'm eventually all out of tears and pick my head up from my dad's now soaked sweater and rub my eyes.

"Sorry." I sniffle.

"That was fully expected. In fact, I think you held up pretty good."

"Stark is a German word meaning strong."

My dad nods. "Do you want a doctor in here, to explain what exactly is happening?"

I eagerly agree. Finally, some clarity.

"Clint-"

"Going to get a doctor." Clint's already halfway out the door as he cuts my dad off.

Once he leaves, I turn back towards my dad. "You know the stuff I said when I thought I was dead meat?"

"Yes."

"Did you relay any of it?"

"Nope. Knew you weren't going to die. You can declare your love for birdbrain yourself."

I land a sloppy, left handed slug to his shoulder just as Clint returns with a doctor in tow.

"Ms. Stark, hi, I am Dr. Simmons, I assisted in your care and surgery."

"Nice to meet you, doc. I'd shake your hand, but…" I shrug.

Dr. Simmons puts the x-rays on the light boards and steps back.

"The explosion left your right arm severely burned and your entire body bruised. The piece of rebar you were pierced with sliced through your shoulder almost completely and nicked your heart. That may be cause for concern, but it does not seem to be troubling as of yet. We had to replace over half your blood and amputate your arm. Questions?"

I shake my head no, so the doctor continues.

"It's time to change your bandages. Do you want everybody in the room present?"

I nod without hesitation.

Dr. Simmons snaps on a pair on rubber gloves and gently starts unwrapping my right arm – or what's left of it, anyways.

Once the final bandage is removed, I finally get a good look at my damaged right limb.

And almost immediately look away.

Because the few inches that are left of my right shoulder are covered in angry, red, puffy scars, dotted with blisters and bruises.

The doctor quickly notices my revulsion and bandages the stump again.

My dad quickly distracts me by pulling out his phone. "Want to see the prosthetics I've been working on?"

I nod gratefully as he pulls up several holograms showing a sleek, banded metal arm, black, like my suit.

I can almost feel myself drooling.

"How early can I get my hands – er, _hand_ – on this?"

"Later today? That's pretty much the last version, just needs a few tweaks."

"What about my heart?"

"That's a bit trickier. We don't know what, exactly, the metal did or is going to do, but I can design you a reactor if you want."

I give a small nod. "Better safe than sorry. Like father, like daughter, I suppose."

My dad is nodding with a smirk. "Till then, you up for some visitors? Lover hawk would enjoy your company."

I snarl at him, infinitely glad said hawk evacuated the room when the prototypes came up.

**A~A~A**

Steve, ever the attentive captain, was first to peer through my doorway.

"Hey Steve. You can come in if you like."

Steve steps over the threshold and gently closes the door behind him as he comes to stand my bedside.

"You look worse that some of the guys I served with."

I wince slightly. "Why thanks Cap, real morale booster you got going there!"

He flinches. "Right, right, sorry. First thing that came to mind."

I smile in forgiveness then frown slightly as a thought occurs to me.

"Steve?"

Steve looks at me, startled by my quiet tone. "Yes?"

"Do I…will I…still be an avenger, after all of whatever this is?"

Steve studies me for a moment before snorting.

I brace myself for the rejection, the hate, the disappointment-

"Of course."

"Huh?"

"Of course you will. Your dad is designing a replacement arm and I have complete faith in both his skills and your ability to overcome. And besides, I can't kick you off without losing your dad, and we need some geniuses on the team, so…"

I laugh as he shrugs before standing and ruffling my hair.

"Get some rest, Taylor. See you soon."

**A~A~A**

Bruce is next, cautiously cracking the door open and entering once he sees I'm awake.

"Hi big guy."

"Hey Taylor. How are you feeling?"

"How _should_ I be feeling under these circumstances?"

"Quit doing that!"

"What?"

"Answering my questions with more questions! I swear that is a genetic thing…"

I laugh and awkwardly cover my mouth with my left hand.

Bruce watches my hand movement quizzically. "You want some help retraining your prosthetic?"

"Retraining?"

"Handwriting, fine motor skills, to be specific."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Either that or learning to be left handed."

"Either way…"

"Gonna need a whole lot of help."

"I knew they kept me around for something."

I giggle as Bruce gets up and rests a gentle hand on my uninjured shoulder. "Get some rest, I think Thor's up next on the visiting list."

I try and not let my horror show as he walks out.

**A~A~A**

Thor is, in fact, next, loudly announcing his presence.

I wince as I reply. "Yeah, Thor, over here, but inside voice, please."

"My apologies, Lady Iron." he says, this time his voice level that of a normal human. "You have much valor to sustain a wound such as this, especially this young."

I a one-sided shrug and a matching smile. "Part of the job, isn't it?"

"Indeed. On Asgard, children of your age would still be watching battles. Many of the most skilled on my home realm would value your skill."

My half-smile fills out as I reply. "Thank you, Thor. Maybe you could show me your home one day?"

"I would be delighted, Lady Iron! I will regale you of tales of past battles as we feast and share mead."

"Right, Thor, but just remember Midgardian children don't consume alcohol until twenty-one."

He frowns slightly as he ponders this, but shrugs. "No matter, grand times shall still be had. At the moment, however, you require rest. I will leave you to your task."

He lays a heavy yet gentle hand on my head as he stands and exits.

**A~A~A**

Clint is next, the only sound made as he enters is the squeak on behalf of the door.

"Sparrow?"

"Hey hawk. Glad you could make it." I drawl, trying to lighten obviously heavy environment.

"It was a struggle, but I did it." Clint instantly plays along.

Then a thought invades my peaceful mind that instantaneously crushes the light mood and bring tears to my eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong? Does something hurt?" Clint has seated himself by my bed and is resting a hand on my back.

"N-no, it's just…archery, Clint, what am I gonna do?"

"You're getting prosthetics fitted, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then no biggie. I simply reteach you how to shoot. It might feel weird at first, but you'll get used to it, just like your dad did with his arc reactor."

"Are you sure you wanna teach me?"

"Why would I _not_ be sure? Remember what I said to Loki about the whole 'my sparrow' spiel?"

"Mm-hm."

"Yeah, well, now you're just a cyborg sparrow. Still mine to teach and protect, though. And speaking of cyborgs, can you try not to take over the world with Terminator?"

"I make no promises." I chuckle, "But if I do, you'll be spared."

He laughs and advises me to rest before standing and exiting.

But not before poking his head back in for an "I'll be back." in a horrible Schwarzenegger impression.

**A~A~A**

The last teammate to visit is Natasha, who pokes her head in with a quiet "Vorobey?"

"Privet, tetya Natasha."

"Vy tozhe?"

"I'm good, now can we switch to English please?"

"Sorry. You don't know how much I enjoy conversing in Russian with someone who knows more than innuendos."

"Clint?"

"No duh. Everyone been to visit?"

"You're the last."

"Yeah, sorry, I got tied up at the office."

"Literally?"

"Not this time, no. And, FYI, you still owe me a girl's night."

"Once I'm piece together I'll take you up on that."

"Alright, Frankenstein, deal."

"Hey! I-" my indignant reply is cut off by a slight heartburn-feeling sensation in my chest.

"Taylor? You okay?"

I open my mouth to reply, but no sound comes out because now I feel like I've been punched in the chest and my vision is reduced to a swirling mix of black and grey.

_Again._

**A/N**

**Dun-dun-DAH! Please don't hate me! **

**The prosthetic idea came from Wattpad's JustLettingGo, her stories are what gave me the idea. Thanks!**

**Russian translations:**

**Vorobey = sparrow**

**Privet, tetya Natasha = Hello, aunt Natasha**

**Vy tozhe? = Are you well?**

**Keep reading and reviewing and such!**


	23. Chapter 22

**A/N **

**Hi! I have almost 2,600 views! Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

**For the metal arm, just envision the Winter Soldier's arm, but black not silver.**

Chapter 22

_Beep._

I really need to stop waking up like this.

_Beep._

What hurts now?

_Beep._

_Ohh…_my chest…

"-lor? Taylor, you awake?"

I crack open one eye, only to clamp it shut against the harsh hospital light.

"Too bright..."

There's a little shuffling and a few clicks. "There, that better?"

I pry an eye open to see the light has been dimmed considerably. I relax and blink both eyes a few times. "Do I have all my limbs?"

"Minus your right arm, yes."

"Okay, so…what now?"

"You remember how the meat nicked your heart, and it wasn't a huge problem, but we needed to watch it?"

"Yeah…"

"Well it sort of became a big problem."

"What _kind _of big problem are we talking?"

"…the kind where those bandages are covering an arc reactor."

I stay silent, waiting for my world to crash and reboot the way it did the last time someone told me this kind of news.

Nothing happens. Instead, I'm just left staring at my dad and slowly blinking a few times.

"O-kaay. So what does this mean?"

"It means we'll have to make the necessary modifications to your suit, when we rebuild you one, as well as installing double the emergency reactors in the tower. The team knows about your reactor, and Bruce already knows how to change them. Anybody else you want me to teach?"

"Clint? For the range."

My dad is smirking and I send a wary glare in his direction. "Dad-"

"I was just going to say said birdbrain is waiting in the hallway with a doctor."

"Sure you were."

"Can I let them in now?"

"Alright."

My dad opens the door to reveal a food-laden archer followed by a doctor equipped with a clipboard and x-rays.

"Hey glow stick, how ya feeling?"

"Glow stick?"

He just nods towards my lap and plops the tray of steaming food on my lap. "Your usual from McDonalds."

"Yay! Look at you, feeding the invalid."

Clint just laughs as the doctor clears his throat.

"Right, sorry doc, continue."

"Ms. Stark, this is what your chest currently looks like." He clicks up an x-ray. "We had to saw off ribs 3 through five and your spleen to fit your new chest piece. We-"

"Fit and electromagnet to the casing and set the piece in." my dad and I recite at the same time. "Yes, we know. Now can we see it?"

The doctor rubs his face and sighs. "Yes, of course. Do you want anyone to step out?"

"I do still have a hospital gown on, right, Dad?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Then no, doc, they can stay."

"Sit up straight for me."

I stiffen my spine as the doctor begins to unpin and unwrap the bandages.

"Alright, one more layer…"

My dad holds up a mirror (don't ask where he got it) as the final bandages come off, so I can see my reactor in full detail.

And it is magnificent.

I've been used to seeing my dad's reactor for more than two years now. Seeing it light up my own chest, however, is a completely different ball game.

The re-enforced glass is slightly convex, letting the brilliant blue triangle light design add to the glow already present in the room from my dad's reactor.

"Wow." I breathe out, the word barely audible.

"See? Told you, glow stick."

"Long as you still call me sparrow, hawk."

"I knew you liked it!"

I just roll my eyes as my dad speaks up. "So how is your arm?"

"You mean my stump? Slightly numb, but okay. How's my arm coming along?"

"It's done. It took a little longer 'cause I had to build the reactor, but I got it done! Ready to attach?"

"Ready to attach! I need my right arm back!"

"Alright," my dad laughs, "Wait here and I'll go get it and the supplies."

With that, he pats my shoulder and jogs out if the room.

Leaving me and Clint.

I'm suddenly very self-conscious in my hospital gown.

"Do you have _any idea _how worried I was?"

"Huh?"

"You run into an abandoned building with no plan whatsoever, see a bomb, and instead of running, you _poke it_. Then you try and disarm it with an impossible amount of time left, and get yourself hurt for it. Then once safely at the hospital, I learn they cut of your arm, and then you pass out yet _again_ and I discover your heart if failing. Do you have any idea?"

"Clint?"

"Yes?"

"If you're done, listen for a sec."

"…okay?"

"First, I think the 'no plan' and 'heroic sacrifice' genes are hereditary, from my dad's side. Secondly, backup would not arrive in time – you said so, the bomb's fuse was too short. Third, what can I do that isn't already on the team? You can shoot better than I can, and my dad and Bruce were the brains of the team first. You tell me; why am I here?"

Clint just gives a small laugh and puts a hand on my chin, gently forcing me to look into his beautiful, soulful, endless-

"Are you listening?"

-eyes. Right, conversation. "What?"

"As I was saying, you have a lot of things we wouldn't have without you. I can't shoot any better than you-"

"-you mean you couldn't. We don't know now."

"-and you are part of a threesome of brains from the start." Clint finishes, completely ignoring my interruption.

"You lost an arm. So what? Steve lost his entire life to ice. Bruce lost his peace of mind to an accident. Thor lost his brother to madness. Natasha lost her sense of trust to the mistreatment of others. I lost the trust of others because of Loki. Your dad lost part of his heart in Afghanistan. You'll do what we all did: overcome and be stronger for it. You'll learn how to shoot again, and you'll be in a lab in no time. So if I hear you ask why you are on the team ever again, do I have permission to slap you?"

"Permission granted."

"For what? Taylor, you better not be doing anything I wouldn't do." my dad say suspiciously, poking his head back into the room.

"You do a lot of things, dad."

"Like making you an arm. Ta-DA!" He enters the room, holding out an metal arm that looks exactly like on the holograms.

"Cool! But, um, how does it attach?"

"Through clips and suction cups. A small nano bot gets attached to your brain stem to conduct movement like a regular arm."

"Doesn't that mean brain surgery?"

"Nope. Just flip over, I numb the injection site, shave a little hair, and inject this." He holds up a big syringe filled with a shiny, silver, metallic liquid.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. But first, we attach the arm. Let me see your stump."

I wriggle my stump and roll up the sleeve of the hospital gown for my dad to pin back.

I hold out the stump and shiver as my dad slathers on a cold gel, and it tickles.

"Sorry, sorry, but it's completely necessary."

I nod and make a 'carry on' gesture with my left hand.

My dad finishes applying the gel and supports my stub with one hand as he reaches for my arm and brings the end of the arm up to the end of the stub.

"This might feel like pins and needles for a minute, but it'll pass. Ready?"

"Ready."

He touches the arm to the stub, pushes, twists, and locks. With a few clicks, I have a new arm. For now, though, it's just a dead weight attached to my shoulder. It's a little heavy and bulky, but it's better than not having an arm.

"Now, I should warn you that the injection site and stub will burn for a minute, will that be okay?"

"Well," I sigh, "Without the injection, I have a dead weight. With it, I have an arm. So…yes."

My dad nods. "Okay, flip over."

I roll onto my stomach, forever grateful I slipped on sweatpants.

I wince as a small needle pricks the skin at the base of my head. "Can you feel this?"

"Feel what?"

"Okay, here comes the razor."

I can hear the buzz and hum of the razor as I lost about two square inches of hair at the back of my head.

"Ready for injection?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Commencing injection."

The only thing I feel on the back of my brain is a slight pressure as I assume the needle pierces my skin. Then nothing for about five seconds.

Then _oh how it burns._

The injection site and my left shoulder feel like someone stabbed a hot knife in them. And twisted. And _ow, owowowow. _

Eventually the pain fades and I'm left panting with tears streaming out of my eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" my dad's voice is almost a wail.

"Yeah, I-yeah, I'm good. You weren't kidding about the burn."

"Sorry. Want to sit up?"

"Please."

My dad hooks an arm around my back and hoists my shoulders up.

And then I notice the room is vacant of a certain archer.

"Where's-"

"Clint? He left as soon as the tears started. I don't blame him, I would have followed if I could. Now can you wiggle your fingers on your right hand?"

I focus on the fingers on my left hand and try and move them in a twitching fashion.

And they do.

I manage to clench then unclench my fist and then flex my elbow.

I lift my hand up to give my dad the 'ok' signal.

We both laugh with glee.

And for the first time in what feels like a millennia, I give my dad a right-handed high five.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"Good! Now toss it back."

I gently send the ball back towards Bruce. We're standing in the middle of the sparring mats, tossing a rubber ball back and forth and I'm only allowed to use my prosthetic. He said it builds hand-eye coordination.

My days are filled with this type of activity, the kind that are tuned towards adapting my new arm to the things that are necessary for efficient function in the real world.

That's what Bruce said, anyways.

My day started with handwriting practice for an hour after breakfast, followed by lab work with my dad until about ten o'clock, then I came down to the gym to spar with Natasha for another hour, and Natasha traded places with Bruce about an hour ago.

"Good work Taylor, you're free to go. I hear they picked up pizza downstairs."

I clap – which is really more of a metallic clanging sound – and pick up my bag, containing my non-gym clothes and head towards the showers.

Instead of jumping in and out, I stand and let the steam soothe my skin as I stare at my hands.

My left hand: bone, flesh, and bone. It can feel pain. It can bleed.

On the same token, you have my right hand: circuits and steel and wires. It can't feel pain or bleed.

At the start of the week, both hands matched the description of my left hand and my chest didn't have a night light in it. Now, a week later, I have one real arm, one metal arm attached to nano bots in my brain, and an eternal night light.

I shiver, both from that realization and the blast of cold air that hits me, signifying an open door.

"Taylor? Are you okay in there?" Natasha calls out uncertainly.

"Yeah, I'll be out in five."

"I'll wait in the gym."

True to my word, five minutes later I'm wearing jeans and a band t-shirt my dad got for me. I open the door to access the main gym to find Natasha sitting patiently against the wall. Once she sees that I've emerged, she walks side by side out of gym and heading towards the kitchen.

"How long was I in there?"

"About forty-five minutes. Your dad was getting worried and your pizza was cooling fast. While it's just us, are you really okay?"

"I'm fine, Tasha, really. Just contemplating, you know, this," I use my left hand to motion towards my prosthetic, "and this." I wave my right hand towards my reactor.

"Alright, I believe you. But next time, instead of using all that hot water because _some people_," she coughs and it sound suspiciously like _Thor and Steve _"use entirely too much as it is, how about you come find me?"

I laugh and nod as we arrive into the kitchen to have five pairs of eyes turned our way.

Someone shoves a paper plate loaded with cheese pizza towards me as conversation starts back up.

"Hey Taylor! How's the training coming?" Steve sits across from me with a heaping pile of pepperoni pizza.

"Not bad, I'm just so busy. Worth it, though, if I want to do my job."

"Good, good. Speaking of doing your job, Director Fury is coming over at three."

I groan softly. "Well, he obviously found out. He'll probably give a speech about liabilities and such."

Steve shrugs with his mouth full before swallowing and smiling. "Just remember what I told you in the hospital room and you'll be okay."

I nod and lick my fingers free of sauce and grease. Just in time, too, because Clint appears at my shoulder and nods towards the range.

I wave to Steve and jog after Clint, equal parts anxiety and excitement.

We arrive at the range to see my bow propped against a table, accompanied by my quiver and gloves, and Clint's bow and gear on the table adjacent to it.

I take a deep breath as I pick my bow up in my left hand, running a finger on my right hand against the bow string and shivering from the creepy lack of feel.

"Ready?'

I nod as I set my bow on the table and strap on my quiver and gloves.

"Nock."

I slowly pick up an arrow and set it, careful not to let my metal fingers so much as scratch it.

"Aim."

I use my left hand to lift the bow and line up the target.

"Pull back."

I pick up my right hand at a pace that made a snail look like an Olympic runner and pull back at a similar speed, carefully measuring how much force I put into my prosthetic.

"And let it go."

_Thwack!_

A breath I didn't know I'd been holding comes out in a half-laugh, half-cry as I see that my arrow has landed exactly where I wanted it to: dead center.

"See, told you! Your speed might be a problem, though…ah-hah! Follow me."

Clint jumps into the vents as I shoulder my bow and follow, albeit confusedly.

About five minutes and a few wrong turns later, kicks open a vent cover and drops down.

I land in a room with mirrored paneling on one entire wall, the other three wall, roof, and floor all a matte black.

I turn to Clint with a puzzled glance.

"This is a simulation room. I figured nothing made a person move quick like sharp things headed their way. I'll be in observation over there if you need me." He jogs off towards the mirrored wall, which I now assume is covered in two way mirrors.

"Whenever you're ready." Clint's voice crackles over the speakers in the corners of the room.

Once I'm standing in the center of the large room, I give the mirrored wall a thumbs up.

A wooded, forest-y scene – which I quickly recognize as holographic – quickly surrounds me, as do massive golem-looking robots.

_Note to self: talk to dad about simulation bots, because this feels like overkill._

I exhale quickly as I buzzer sounds, signaling the start of the fight.

I barely have time to notch my first arrow before one of the bots rushes towards me, and I duck and roll before popping up and lodging the arrow in its head.

I jump and suction myself to the ceiling via glove as Robot 2 roars towards me, and drop boot-first onto its head with a satisfying _crunch_.

I land again and instantly do a back-handspring to avoid Robot 3's whirling blades, before launching my own knife at its neck.

I use the momentum from the throwing movement to do a spinning kick towards Robot 4's gut before kicking its casing off my foot.

Robot 5 is barreling towards me, so I drop and slide baseball style into the gap between its wheels and rely on the bots inability to turn quickly as I smash my palm into Robot 5's head.

Robot 6 is the only one left, and Robot 6 is about a foot long and wide and about a foot and a half tall. I can't just rush it head on because it darts behind me, leaving me open for attack. I'll have to use my bow, it dodges knifes and kicks as well as punches.

My eyes widen as a plan forms. I holster my knife as I sprint full speed directly towards the opposite wall, jumping at the last minute to attach myself the where the ceiling meets the wall. I detach as I kick of the wall and flip through the air, twisting in mid-air as I notch an arrow and fire at Robot 6, who was currently on the ground, staring up at me until an arrow shaft protrudes from the top of its head.

Another buzzer signals the end to the simulation as the hologram disappears and Clint emerges from observation, running up to hug me and spin me, not unlike how a boyfriend would.

_Stop it, Taylor…_

"Good job! How'd your arm feel?"

I blink up at him as I realize I had forgotten all about my reason for being here, the speed at which I moved my prosthetic.

Clint just laughs and claps me on the shoulder. "That tells me all I need to know. Director Fury awaits, he's downstairs with everybody else. Coming?"

"Obviously. Just let me change first; tell them I'm coming."

Clint nods as I follow him out into the hall before splitting off towards my room.

**A~A~A**

Five minutes later, I'm dressed in a dark green long-sleeved sweater and gloves, in order to hide my arm, and the same dark jeans.

Once I enter the living room, I join the team by plopping onto a particularly cushy couch before nodding at Fury to begin.

"What's this I hear about one of you having a prosthetic?"

I blink in surprise – _you mean he doesn't already know? – _And cross my arms protectively as my brain begins stuttering for a reply, but luckily I don't have to because my dad beats me to the punch.

"I wouldn't know, Nicky, what _do_ you hear?"

"One of you idiots – probably a Stark – crashed into an abandoned warehouse, found a bomb, did not wait for backup, tried to disarm it, and got themselves blown up, and they are now missing a limb. In this world, the word _prosthetic _is synonymous with _liability._ We can't have entire limbs failing in battle, giving an enemy time to sink in a knife or fire a bullet. Whomever got the prosthetic better speak up now, because that person is no longer an Avenger, effective immediately!"

I whimper softly and duck my head as my dad jumps to his feet to protest, but Steve – normally following orders to the millimeter – is already standing, his fists clenched and trembling.

"With all due respect, _sir_, I disagree. The Avenger with the prosthetic is a selfless, brave hero, and I have a feeling that if you boot them, you'll lose all of us. And here's another thing: quit bossing _my _team. You appointed me leader, and I take threats to the safety, health, well-being, and happiness of any of my team seriously. If you threaten my team again, we _will _have a problem, Director or not. Am I clear?"

During his rant, Steve had steadily stepped closer and closer to Director Fury, so that when the last word was said, the two men were nearly nose to nose, both bristling and making inhuman growling sounds.

I quickly glance at the rest of my team, all of which – even Natasha and Clint – are on their feet, tense and staring at Fury with fiery eyes, just taunting him to _dare_ and boot me off the team.

"Rogers, stand down. That's an order, as is this: reveal the one with the prosthetic. _Now._" Director Fury's voice is oddly calm, lower than usual. He has one fist clenched and the other holding his gun, which is not holstered.

The team shifts into action, both slowly and all at once at the same time. Steve tenses and reaches for his shield, which was propped against the couch, not once taking his eyes off Fury. Bruce is shaking from the effort of holding in the Other Guy, his eyes fully green. Natasha readies her own gun and I can hear the safety click off. Clint snaps his bow to full length and nocks an arrow. My dad slowly – as if not to scare a cornered animal – pulls me behind him.

"All of you, stand down now!"

Nobody moves.

"Stand down or you're all out of a job!"

"We are not scared of you Fury." Surprisingly, my voice is calm and steady as I speak for the first time.

"Well you should be. All of you, fired! _Mr. _Barton, _Ms. _Romanoff, don't bother reporting tomorrow." He storms out of the room, leaving us all shocked and two of us jobless.

******Well then...****  
**

**Don't worry, I have a solution waiting in 24. DO NOT PANIC PEOPLE.**

**But please _do_ review and favorite and follow!**


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 24

Chaos instantly descended upon the room as everyone started talking at once, panicked glances being thrown like knives.

After about five minutes of incessant noise, a shrill taxi-cab whistle turned everyone's attention towards the coffee table, on top of which my dad had taken a metaphorical podium.

"Alright, settle down. Don't give me that look, Barton, yes I do know what just happened. One at a time, hands raised."

Five people groan but six hands are raised anyways.

"Good little children. First…Steve?" my dad chirps, gleefully ignoring the exasperated glares sent his way.

"What just happened?"

"That, good captain, was a team response to Fury threatening my daughter. You got all up in his face – nice job, by the way – and Fury got his gun. We refused to back down, so Fury fired all of us."

"And what happens now?"

"We _could_ always show Fury we don't need him and he can stick it. All in favor, say aye!"

Five 'aye!'s ring out (some more hesitant than others), and the room is left staring at Clint and Natasha, both of whom had remained silent. The former assassins were acting fidgety, squirming in their seats and picking at their clothes. Their eyes darted every which way, refusing to make eye contact.

"Guys?"

"We just lost _everything_." Clint's voice is quiet and slightly shaky, _and I want to hug him so badly_, "We both just lost the only job both of us were happy at, where we could stop running from the blood on our hands and the ghosts behind us. We found a team we could work with, _live_ with, and the rug just got pulled out from under us."

Realization dawns upon the team, soon replaced by sympathetic gazes, which only cause the spider and the hawk to squirm even more. I cross the room to lay a still-covered hand on Clint's shoulder as my dad opens his mouth again.

"I could always make positions at Stark Industries for you? Avengers liaisons or something, anything to keep you both doing your sneaky spy thing. How about it?"

"I don't know, Stark, _you_ being _my _boss? Again?" Natasha looks skeptical, and I wince as I remember the circumstances of 'Natalie Rushman'.

My dad simply rolls his eyes and lets that roll off his back. "Come on, Natashalie, you know _boss _is a loose term. This is literally just a way for you and Clint to stay here, doing what you love."

"Give us time. We'll get back to you."

My dad nods contentedly as he points towards Bruce's hand.

"We need funding if we're going solo. This will crash and burn – badly, I might add – if we don't have the money to support anything." Bruce, ever the voice of reason, points out.

"Ah, funding. Bruce, billionaire here. Taylor, can you get that one board member on the phone? The one-"

"-with the tattoos of our logo and Cap's shield?"

"Yeah, him. Tell him the situation and what we need. Throw in lunch with Steve if he says no."

I laugh at Steve's indignant 'hey!' and nod as I clear my throat to deliver my two cents.

I gulp as I turn slowly to face the entire team and try not to mess with the hem of my shirt as I begin to speak.

"I just wanted to thank you all. You all just lost your jobs and pretty much your entire lifestyles for me-"

"-my lifestyle had nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D., thank you-"

I roll my eyes at my dad before continuing. "You lost a lot, just to protect me from Fury and to secure my place on this team. Thank you, you really didn't have to do that-"

I'm cut off sharply by Clint stomping up to me and gently slapping me.

The rest of the team stares at us in shock as I twist my head back from where it snapped to the side. Thor, Bruce, and Steve have utter confusion and shock written all over their faces, Natasha looks relieved in a I-was-five-seconds-away-from-doing-that way, and my dad was staring at Clint in utter detest.

"Thanks, Clint."

"_What?!_**"**

"I gave Clint permission to slap me if I ever went into 'stupidly self-depreciating mode'."

"Oh. Good, I don't have to hurt him. _Some_ people wouldn't like that."

I glare at my dad as I get back on my original topic. "So anyways, thanks, I owe you guys." I finish quickly as I sit back down on to the couch.

Quiet whispers of welcome float around the room and I smile slightly as my dad continues.

"So while we get all this sorted, who's up for a vacation?"

This time all seven hands are eagerly flung onto the air.

My dad laughs at our reactions and jumps off the coffee table before continuing.

"Where to?"

I'm about to suggest Paris (now that we're not saving the world), but Clint voices my thoughts before I can.

"Paris? Just as awesome, _touristy_, heroes this time."

I tense in anticipation as my dad seems to think this over, glancing at me a few times, before smiling and announcing his verdict. "Paris it is! Pack your berets, we leave tomorrow!"

I squeal uncharacteristically and jump up to give my dad and Clint bear hugs before running off to decide just how many gadgets I need.

**A~A~A**

I smiled out at the beautiful city of Paris from where I sat on my hotel room bed, gazing with wonder at the magnificent skyline.

_Buzz. _

I jump as my phone lights up, informing me I have a new message.

One swipe, a few taps, and a passcode later, I learn that the team is going to dinner at some restaurant with an unpronounceable name and all girls' musts wear dresses, all guys were required to wear tuxes. I groan before racing down the hall.

"NA-TA-SHAAA!"

"Yes?" Natasha cracks her door open, summoned by my frantic screaming.

"Did you," _pant _"get the text," _pant _"about the dinner?"

"Yes."

"_Please _tell me you have something for me to wear!"

Natasha just laughs and pulls me into her room. "Of course I do, what kind of question is that, genius?"

I just laugh as she sits me down onto her bed and hauls out a dress.

My laughter is cut off by my jaw hitting the floor.

The dress is stunning. A knee length tea-type dress, made of a silky material in purple and black. The one sleeve is purple and covered in silky black roses. The top has a sweetheart neckline, the top itself is purple, down to the waistline, which is covered by a thick black band. Below the band, the skirt of the dress has alternating purple and black thick stripes, the skirt itself is puffed out a little by layers of black netting beneath the skirt.

"Wow."

"So eloquent. How do you manage the press conferences?"

"Shut it, Tasha. But seriously, are you sure? I mean, it's stunning, but on me?"

"It'll look even better. But first shower, hair and makeup!" Natasha promises, shoving me towards the bathroom.

"You do know it's not my wedding or anything, right? And no makeup!"

Natasha waves off my interruption as she closes the bathroom door behind me.

I sigh as I turn on the shower, letting the steam cover the bathroom before stepping in.

I take time to scrub off all of the motor oil crusted in my hair, all the sweat caked on my skin, and just generally let the steam relax my tense muscles.

Sometime later, I step back out into the hotel room, hair dripping (by Natasha's instructions) and clad only in a towel.

"Ah! You're out. You look so much better without motor oil and sweat."

"Thanks. Who knew, right?" I laugh and roll my eyes.

Natasha giggles as she thrusts a fluffy hotel robe in my direction. "Put this on, I'll turn around."

After I've ditched the towel and donned the robe, Natasha leads me over to the chair by the desk, which has been turned into an impromptu salon/makeup table.

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life or with my hair?"

"Are the answers different?"

"No…"

"I ask again: do you trust me?"

"…yes. Just, nothing crazy, okay?"

"Deal." Natasha agrees as she spins the chair around so I can't see my hair until it's finished.

Half an hour later, the chair is spun back around.

And Natasha has made me speechless again.

My usually messy brunette pixie cut has been fully straightened, the bangs brushed fully to the right, reaching a little past my eyebrow. My hair is a glossy, soft, chocolate brown, and you would never guess I keep it in a rat's nest 99.9% of the time.

"Holy crap, Tasha-"

"Ah-ah-ah! Not even close to done. Makeup time!"

"Not too much, please!"

"Don't worry, just a spot of blush and some lip gloss."

She lightly dusts my cheeks with the fine pink powder and gently rolls on a pink-peach shade of lip gloss that I have to admit is kind of pretty.

"Dress time!"

Natasha leads me back over to the bed, where my dress is waiting, along with shoes and a handbag.

The shoes, thankfully, are not heels, but flats – the likes of which I have worn to many a press conference. They're the same silky black material as the dress, even with tiny purple satin bows near the front rim.

The handbag is a black leather masterpiece, the flap decorated with a crisscross pattern and latched with a small purple heart.

Natasha shoves the dress at me and ushers me back into the bathroom, this time waiting outside the door if I need help with the tiny zipper.

I easily slip the dress on, and once Natasha zips me up and slips on the shoes, leading me back into the room and pausing in front of a mirror.

You guessed it, speechless.

I look like I've just strutted out of Fashion Week. My eyes and hair gently reflect the light, and my dress shimmers every time I move.

Natasha stands off to the side, one hand fisted beneath her chin in a classic 'thinker' pose.

"Hmmm…ah-hah! Final touches!"

"Tasha, what-"

"Here!" She gently sets a black beret with a purple rim on my head, and then rummages through her duffel bag and comes back with a tiny knife holster and accompanying dagger. "And here. I know it's not your knife, that's in your purse with your gloves, but you need a backup. It goes on your thigh, under the skirt, put it on while I'm in the bathroom. By the way, keep the outfit, you look amazing."

I nod as Natasha fishes a dress out of her closet and heads towards the bathroom. "See you in twenty! Try not to sit!"

True to her word, Natasha does emerge twenty minutes later, after I've strapped on the holster and slipped the knife in.

My eyes widen slightly as I take in her ensemble: a short lace sleeved, knee length, form-fitting, sequined black dress with a thick burgundy band and matching black kitten heels.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

She just shrugs and gestures to my own outfit. "Nobody and everybody. Better question: who are _you_ trying to impress?"

"Well, you put me in this, so you answer that."

"Let's see…purple and black, archery, and birds. Is that truly so hard?" Natasha's voice is oozing sarcasm.

"And you're okay with that?! I thought you two were-"

"No. We _were _partners," Natasha sighs sadly and I wince, "but now we're just teammates and friends, just like you and me or Bruce and your dad. Too bad you're too young, you're good for him."

"Thanks, Tasha, your opinion means so much."

"You have my full permission to date him in three years."

"Tasha, once I turn eighteen…what if he's moved on? What if his sparrow doesn't mean so much anymore. I once had a crush that lasted for three years, he just thought I was invisible. I can't let that happen here Tasha, I just can't-"

"Hey." Suddenly Natasha is directly in front of me, one hand firmly on my shoulder. "Calm down, you'll ruin my masterpiece," she gestures towards my dress and hair, "but more importantly, you're overreacting. You'll always mean the world to Clint, whether it by best friend or girlfriend or both. He will never think you're invisible. On a lighter note: I just got a text that we have a limo waiting outside, the boys are at the restaurant, let's go!"

**A~A~A**

One posh limo ride later, Tasha and I walk through the door of a restaurant whose name I still cannot pronounce.

A hostess leads us to a private room in the back, inside of which wait five men in tuxes.

My dad looks perfectly at ease in his classic black tux with a dark red tie, balancing a glass of champagne while gesturing wildly with his hands to tell Steve some story.

Steve is wearing a tux that is either dark navy blue or black with a blue and black striped tie, his head titled as he pays attention to my dad.

Bruce looks uncomfortable in his chocolate brown suit jacket which is covering a beige vest, both of which cover a matching tie. He's immersed in reading the menu – and probably succeeding.

Thor has gone fully classic with a three piece tux and black bowtie, honestly a cane would fit the 'aristocratic gentleman' persona perfectly. He too has a glass of champagne in his hand, which he is delicately sipping as he looks at something – most likely a painting – across from his chair.

The last guy I notice is Clint.

And _oh my god._

He has a black blazer on, unbuttoned, over a light purple dress shirt and a darker purple tie. His pants look freshly creased; his shoes newly polished. His hair is recently gelled, his blue eyes sparkling as he leans back in his chair, studying something outside the window.

And then – almost simultaneously – they notice us.

Wait, no, scratch that: they notice _me._

My dad's eyebrows shoot into his hairline as he takes in my appearance, and I can almost hear the unasked question: _who and why the heck, Taylor?_

Steve's eyes widen and he blushes ever so slightly before tearing his gaze quickly away and towards the menu.

Bruce smiles and hastily glances towards Clint before grinning at me again and nodding his approval.

Thor's grin nearly splits his face in half as he gives a quiet clap and nods his approval alongside Bruce.

Clint's head tilts, like I'm a specimen under a microscope, his world-renowned eyes giving me the once-over and doing a double take, before he grins and nods once.

"Come on ladies, the food is getting cold."

Natasha darts into the seat next to Clint, leaving me to take the only other seat available: next to my dad and across from Clint.

Evil, evil lady.

Talk is exchanged as steak, mashed potatoes, and different sides are passed around, along with non-alcoholic champagne, especially for me.

I listen to the hum and chatter and quiet banter flowing between my teammates as I sip my champagne and join along in certain discussions, others being drowned out as I lose myself to my thoughts.

Over the span of about a month (sixteen days of which I was unconscious) I have managed to balance the scales in terms of loss and gain. I have lost so much – an arm, a suit, a piece of my heart (literally), all ties to safety (ahem, S.H.I.E.L.D.), and my peace of mind.

On the other hand, I have gained just as much, if not more – a metal arm, a new skill (and the bow to go with it), a crush, a surrogate aunt (who gave me a beautiful dress!), and a newfound confidence.

One month. Thirty-one days.

We aren't done here- not by a long shot. Loki slipped our radar through the whole prosthetic fiasco, and we now have to deal with him without our training wheels and cavalry. He's probably making more Tesseract soldiers as we speak, gathering forces for a rebound no-one will soon forget.

I had thought, at the beginning of all this, that this would only enhance my reputation as Iron Beta. And it did. But Iron Beta did not lose an arm, Taylor Stark did. Cameras flash with more vigor than ever, no matter where I go.

Some people think Iron Beta, like Iron Man, hides a soft and weak person behind a metal mask, that Taylor and Tony Stark are vulnerable mice hiding behind lions.

They're so wrong, it's not even funny.

I'm gonna show them just how wrong they are.

**A/N**

**ASKDFGHFL….**

**Well, here it is. The last chapter. Thank you to the over 3,200 people that viewed this, and I really truly hope you've enjoyed.**

**Special thanks to Yami the Outcast and Currahee506, who have reviewed every chapter since chapter 4. Thank you both so much, I can always count on you both.**

**There will be a sequel, I repeat: THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL. The first chapter will hopefully be out tomorrow, and it'll be titled **_**Iron Beta: All is Fair in Love and War.**_** It will be a time skip with full blown Claylor (Clint + Taylor). Tune in soon!**


	26. MAJOR AUTHOR'S NOTE

**Major Author's note! Important!**

**As of today, it has one year since I started writing my first book, **_**Iron Beta: Life as Tony Stark's Daughter**_**. One year. **

**I would like to give a huge thank-you to every person that's ever reviewed, favorited, or followed any of my stories, because there's actually quite a lot of you and you have **_**no idea **_**how much I appreciate all of you.**

**And now, a quick update. **

_**Iron Beta**_** 'verse (canon!Avengers): **_**Dissension**_**, the latest story in this verse, is coming along smoothly. I am accepting requests for one shots, please PM me if you have a request. And keep reviewing, following, etc.**

_**Saved by the Bell**_** 'verse (teacher AU Avengers): consider this verse on hiatus because my muse for that story died. Sorry for all of you that liked that story, but I am taking requests for other AUs as well. PM me or review with an AU idea.**

_**Whispers in the Dark**_** (canon!Harry Potter): this should be getting updated fairly smoothly. The only problem I have with this is that fact that I am literally getting almost no reviews. Do you guys not like this? What's your stance? PLEASE TELL ME. **

**If anyone has any questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, or the like, please PM me, review, or email me at ironsparrow99 [at symbol] gmail . com. **

**Thanks,**

**IronSparrow99.**


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